


Don't Make It Weird

by Ritzy_bird



Series: #Buy Jean An Actual Dildo 2k16 [7]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday, Happy Ending, M/M, Other, Specific Tags Omitted To Avoid Spoilers, commitment issues, romantic pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 64,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: Jean's trying to make things go back to normal, to stop loving Marco. But that's kinda hard when he really, really doesn't want to. And maybe, Marco doesn't want it to either. Maybe. Possibly. Who can tell when Marco won't talk about his feelings? At the very least, neither of them want to destroy their friendship, whatever happens.And maybe Jean can finally get that dildo he so desperately needs.**The lack of ratings/tags is to avoid assumptions of the plot seeing as this is the last part in the series. However as like last time, there are no common negative/triggering elements in the plot whatsoever because that's not what this story is about, and the Happy Ending tag is 100% accurate. Happy endings are what I live for, and there aren't enough in the SNK fandom if you ask me.





	1. So Many Problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyboy/gifts).



> A lot of people diss the use of "no rating/author chose not to use warnings" because they believe it created the possibility of bad things happening. But I can promise you, that's not what I am using them for! As the original purpose in the guidelines states, it is just a measure for authors to use to avoid plot spoilers, whereas they can add extra warnings in chapter notes to properly warn readers WITHOUT spoiling certain aspects right from the summary. All I can do is ask you all to trust me, as this is the last part in the series and will have 4 chapter updates.
> 
> You can send me asks/messages on my tumblr, crackerjacknotanon. Maybe even some fanart? I'd pay to see an artist's rendition of Jean trying to fit a banana up his ass.

Rejection fucking sucked. And really, what else was Jean supposed to think other than that? He didn't remember the exacts; how when he first met Marco, when he first realized he had a crush on Marco, or when that even turned into being in love with him. 

But going nearly 5 years through hope and doubt, and he gets _the most_ confusing answer out of Marco once he finally has the nerve to confess to him?

Of course, Marco didn't owe Jean a damned thing simply because of how in love Jean was and for how long, but Jean _knew_ that already! He knew that Marco had every right to react however he damn well pleased, and Jean wouldn't have any good reason to be upset with him for it. But that didn't mean the reality of it all didn't hurt him.

Marco was so nice to him about it, and honestly, Jean still wasn't sure if that was good or not. Maybe it would've been easier if Marco hadn't been rational, if he hadn't tried to explain to Jean why he didn't want to get into a relationship with him. Because Jean knew he didn't really deserve an explanation. Marco didn't owe him even _that_ much. 

Either way, for whatever reason, Marco still tried to make Jean feel _better_ about it. Jean didn't want that though, he didn't want to be pitied or coddled, or treated softly simply because he _was_ too soft for his own good.

Jean loved Marco too much to force him into being an emotional drainage pipe, to have to sit there and listen as Jean complained and cried about how upset he was over being rejected. The curse of having feelings your best friend, right? And Marco had his own feelings and problems to deal with.

That was as "rational" as Jean could be, and so he did that as much as possible, for as long as possible. No more crying in front of Marco, no pathetic, longing stares directed at Marco. Definitely no trying to make Marco reconsider things....

Jean couldn't throw himself a bunch of pity parties in the privacy in his room, either, but as much sense as it all made, as much as Jean knew he had to get over it and move on before he hurt himself or Marco, it wasn't how things had been going for Jean.

Keeping quiet, moving on, and pretending like things were all good and fine just wasn't Jean's strong suit. That was Marco's. Where Marco could _somehow_ go through some shit looking like it was just another walk through the park, Jean just did his best to bullshit his way through everything and hope no one noticed anything was wrong. 

So, here Jean was, a good few weeks into March, pretending he was trying to get some sleep, while his mind decided to keep him awake with all kinds of unwarranted thoughts. Thoughts about Marco, obviously, the kind that Jean tried to ignore. 

He'd repeated the words Marco told him over and over again, hoping he could trick his dumb little brain into making it a reality: Feelings go away. Everyone falls out of love at some point.

Jean pretended like he wanted to believe that, but in reality? He didn't. Loving Marco was always a glass half empty deal for Jean. The way his heart would just ache sometimes, thinking about how wonderful Marco was. But now? Now it was just worse, because Jean couldn't let go, and instead of his paranoia creeping in to say "It probably won't happen", now he was slapped in the face with the reality of "It's not going to happen".

It hurt to let himself imagine things, to fantasize, but some nights, nights like these, Jean couldn't resist. His body itched with the need for all kinds of things, from little things like kisses on Jean's cheeks, to his back's greedy and relentless desire for something to be _on it_. Someone to spoon him and say sweet things into Jean's ear as they fell asleep together.

Jean pulled his blankets over him, burying his head into his pillow as he tried rolling his shoulders a little to make the itch go away. He knew some ways that worked better, but he didn't really want them to go away.

Things like that were torture to want, now more than ever. All Jean could allow himself to think about to even remotely get his mind off his physical wants, was sleep. How he needed to sleep, how things would be better in the morning, how maybe in between those two things he could have a nice dream.

For all Jean's fantasizing and imagination though, he never really had dreams about Marco. He'd only ever had 2 dreams about Marco, and Jean was so, so glad that he remembered enough about them to enjoy what was left of them in his mind. Sometimes he tried to repeat what he remembered about them back in his head before he went to sleep so that maybe, he might relive them in some way.

Neither of them were sexual, or even all that physical at all, really, and that was probably for the best. They were both very different, but there were a few things that were comfortably similar between them. Each time, Jean was sure that they must have been on some kind of date. Innocent, gentle, simple kinds of dates. The kind you'd expect to see in any generic romantic movie.

The first time they were at some mildly fancy restaurant. Were there people there, or not? Jean wasn't exactly sure. But they ordered food, food came, and they were happy. The oddest thing being that they didn't actually _talk_ to each other. But Jean knew anyway, that they were happy. 

And at some point after enough smiling and laughter and, who knows what other things that probably slipped Jean's mind? Marco ordered ice cream for Jean as a surprise, because, well, who ever gets dessert at a restaurant? Don't people just stuff themselves on the appetizer, get too many refills on their drink, barely finish their entree and then have an awkward "We're so full!" conversation with the waiter?

There were no words, but dreams didn't have to make sense. Jean knew that Marco loved being there with him in that dream, and that was all that mattered.

The second dream was a little less strange. Or maybe more strange? They were at some amusement park, and there were plenty of people there, but at the same time, sometimes there weren't any people there, and it'd just be Jean and Marco, holding hands. 

But it was nice. Jean remembered it being that way, at least when he'd been dreaming. Marco would just, look into Jean's eyes, and Jean would know that Marco was so _happy_ to be there with him. They sat down and ate something, Jean can't remember anymore what it was, and they watched some fireworks go off above the park, when the sun was setting. Or maybe the sun was already down. They were dreams, okay, Jean didn't remember every detail exactly.

The only details that mattered to him were the ones about Marco and how he felt about him, how he could just make Jean feel and understand how much he appreciated and cared about him without having to say anything or even give Jean a kiss. 

Unfortunately, that was one of the similarities in both dreams that was disheartening. Marco wasn't in love with him in those dreams, or at least, Jean didn't know if he did. It was like they were half-way between being best friends and, well, as stupid as the term might be, lovers. Maybe that was the world's way of telling Jean that his feelings weren't going to be reciprocated.

It wasn't like Jean confused any of it for the truth, but they were nice things to have imagined, and Jean was going to keep the splotchy memories for as long as he was willing to torture himself over being rejected. 

Jean still wished though, that he could have one of those dreams again. Maybe he had, and he only remembered 2 out of 100. But even another dream wasn't going to make Jean happy. In his dreams, sure, but waking up the next day to the truth...? It would be cruel. Not that he found reality to be a kind of nightmare, it just would hurt him too much by the comparison.

And the guilt Jean would feel, for daring to still love Marco in the way he did? It would only make it harder for him to move on. 

So he was stuck, like he had been all those months ago, when his brain was messed up by a whirlwind of affectionate thoughts and the need to prove himself. He was trapped, and he didn't know how to pull himself out of it. 

He kept tossing and turning in his bed, his skin never feeling quite satisfied with the false sensation of touch he was giving it. Wrapping himself up in blankets was not the same as being in bed with another person, and he was stupid to even try to trick himself into thinking it would be. 

Jean knew that part of it was his own fault, because he just wanted Marco so bad that well, he didn't want to move on. So his skin would itch and crawl, and he'd get less sleep for tonight, huffing and whining into his pillow at the very thought of Marco being there with him.... But all things had to come to an end at some point, and when he calmed down, he'd get his sleep.

* * *

Now sure, rejection was a bitch, crippling his self esteem and throwing his hopes and dreams out a 3rd story window. But you know what Jean thought was almost worse, what was an even _bigger_ bitch to deal with? Eren _fucking_ Jaeger, as Jean liked to think of him.

If Jean wasn't so envious of him, he might be able to admit that Eren was just as, if not more-so, attractive than Marco. Really, Jean didn't actually _hate_ him, it was just that Eren annoyed him, and he was jealous of what Eren had. 

Emphasis on the past tense. So much going for him, until he tried to force himself onto Armin, who was now his ex-best friend. It was a tragedy almost, one that Jean tried to learn from. Jean had to at least hand it to Eren for trying, even if Eren had screwed himself over in the end. 

Armin may not have been the most popular person in school, but word got around fast enough that Eren had betrayed Armin's trust. When it comes to drama and teenagers, who doesn't love to pick a "side"? 

Jean and Eren were never exactly friends, obviously, but with how much Eren would hang around Armin, it was only natural that they were at least acquaintances. Jean could only keep quiet and stay looking chipper for so long, and today, today he'd needed a break. Some answers too, hopefully. And he knew that Eren had more than enough time to kill.

He called Eren, asking if they could meet up or something after school, to just, hang out or something. Honestly, Jean didn't know what to say. They never really spent any time together unless it was through someone else, and he could only imagine the kind of sour mood Eren must've been in. 

If Jean spent time with Eren it was probably because he had a study date with Armin. Or there was a group sleepover at someone's house. Or someone had a birthday party and they both just happened to be invited. Really, Jean was probably the last person to want to hang out with Eren and _just_ Eren.

Jean was shocked when Eren had agreed without so much of a question as to why. Maybe he was that lonely? Or worse, he was planning on asking Jean out in desperation. That would be disgusting. So what if Jean got a little turned on sometimes when he saw Eren in certain... situations? It wasn't Jean's fault that Eren had to have a nice body!

Regardless of any of that though, Jean had no plans on being Eren's consolation prize. Although, it _would_ be a bit of a confidence boost if he considered someone like Jean a second place one-time-fuck. Then again, if he was only second best compared to _Armin_...? Yeah, that wasn't exactly motivational.

Jean chose their local Wal-Mart as a meeting place. It wasn't exactly hang-out material, or private but it had a pizza place in it, which was as public and casual as Jean could get. That and he planned to do some retail therapy with what little money he had. He figured, neither of them had the money or the time to ride the bus down to the mall and meet there anyway. 

But why would Jean even waste a whole 3 dollars on bus fair just for Eren? Fuck, Jean didn't even wanna spend bus money to meet _Marco_ anywhere half the time.

At least if Eren never showed, Jean could take care of other things. Waiting really was the hard part through, with what people worked there just kinda staring at him every now and then. They were probably expecting him to get up and spend his money, or stop wasting a perfectly good chair and table.

Part of Jean wanted to just pick up his phone and ask Eren where the hell he was, because it'd been 20 minutes past their meeting time already and he was getting bored. But that would've been awkward, especially since the chance of Eren getting annoyed and not showing up at all would be raised by quite a bit if he did so.

It was just that, Jean didn't know how long he should wait before either leaving or getting something to eat. He didn't want to be eating when Eren got there, because then he'd be talking with his mouth full, and that would really kill the mood of the whole situation. This wasn't an actual plan to hang out, he really wanted to talk with Eren.

Before Jean could seriously consider eating or leaving, he saw a plastic bag swing right past his face and land on the table, startling him. "Hey." Eren said immediately after, sitting in the chair across from Jean. What a dick move. Not that Jean had expected any different.

"You went _shopping_? I've been waiting here for like, an hour!" Jean snapped, although it hadn't really been that long. He was just disappointed that he hadn't gone shopping first too, and maybe make Eren be the one to wait around. 

The disbelieving look Eren gave him in return was evidence that Eren figured that too, but he said nothing as he pulled his phone out from his pocket and started to stare at the screen. 

Jean took a quick breath to try and calm himself down, knowing that getting into a fight with Eren right now was the last thing that would help. "What's in there anyway?" He sighed as he glanced at the bag in between the two of them. Not that he really cared that much, he was just curious.

Eren shrugged, grabbing the handles of the bag and pulling it off the table and out of sight. "Tampons." The answer made Jean freeze for a moment, embarrassed. Maybe Eren just said that to shut Jean up, because Jean certainly didn't wanna know anything about tampons or who needed them so badly. 

If that was the plan, it worked. Jean wasn't going to question the bag any further, in fear that they really might be tampons, and then things would just get even more awkward.

After the moment came and went, Eren set his phone down and looked over at Jean, "Soo, why am I here?" Jean was beginning to think that Eren might've only shown up because he just happened to need to run an errand at Wal-Mart anyway. Figures. But, where was he supposed to start?

"Uhhh...." Jean started, trying to put his thoughts together in a way that wouldn't sound weird. They were in a public place after all. "How, uhm-- No, I mean, are you... _y'know_?" He sounded even more confused than he really was, and he knew the question was pretty stupid. Of course Eren was _gay_. Eren dated guys, kissed them, screwed them if he could.

And last time Jean checked, Armin and Marco were most certainly boys. They both rejected Eren, sure, but Jean knew that Eren was more than just "experimenting with his sexuality" or whatever it was the adults liked to call it. 

Eren was not-straight of some variety, a variety that Jean could never really pinpoint or understand. The easy answer? Eren must've been bi. The only answer Jean ever got when he asked other people? That Eren denied being gay or bi, even though the evidence seemed to point in that direction.

Now was the time to hear it straight from the horse's mouth, because Jean was, quite frankly, tired of guessing and wondering these things. And it wasn't like he cared about Eren specifically, he was just using it as one part of understanding something else.

He expected Eren to get snippy, or for him to blow him off, but that wasn't the case. Eren was giving Jean such an oddly uninterested look, like, it didn't matter one way or the other that Jean had just asked him something so personal. "You had me come here to ask if I'm gay?"

Jean stared awkwardly at Eren for a moment or so long past the expected response time, before Eren rolled his eyes and picked up his phone again. "I'll make it easy for you, okay?" Eren muttered, swiping his thumb across his phone screen a few times. "I don't wanna date you. Or screw you. So it shouldn't matter to you, alright?" 

What? What the hell was Eren implying? Did he think that Jean was, here to ask him out or something? Jean let his mind slip from his main train of thought, taking offense in a panic. "So what? Well, what's so wrong with me, hm? I'm attractive!" 

He was tempted to make a comment about how Eren should've probably been getting back into the swing of things now that his options were limited, but that was a blatantly obvious way to earn himself a black eye the next chance Eren got some time alone with him. 

Eren eyed Jean up and down, "Says who?" Oh, _ohhh_ he was pushing it. Eren really knew how to push Jean's buttons. 

"Marco! He, he thinks I'm, uhm, cute." Jean's voice got quieter as he finished his sentence, both ashamed and flattered at the memory of when Marco so cruelly lied to him. 

At that though, Eren put his phone down again, a smirk on his face. Did he think it was funny? Or that Jean was lying to him? "Yeah, and? Friends say all kinds of stuff to cheer each other up. I don't think you're cute, sorry." 

Jean knew that, and he wanted to throw it back in Eren's face that Marco actually thought Jean was more than simply cute, but it wouldn't be any kind of victory for him. Not when he knew the whole truth.

"F-fine! What, what if I'm asking, y'know, for a friend?" Jean countered back poorly, not sure how else he was supposed to be going about getting the information out of him. Hopefully Eren would see Jean as annoying, throw him a bone, and get lost.

Jean trusted both Armin and Mikasa equally in being able to give him answers instead, but as always, now more than ever, he was too intimidated to ask either of them. 

That and, Armin had been very clear the last time Jean talked to him, that he didn't want to talk about Eren or anything relating to him. And after he'd found out that Mikasa was the person Marco lost his virginity to...? Yeah no, he couldn't even look her in the eyes, forget talking to her.

Surprisingly enough, Eren almost looked more serious, sitting up and leaning forward a little. "Tell your 'friend', that I don't care. You want me to put a label on it? Give them and everyone else something to judge me by? That's not--...." Eren took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"That's _not_ how I am. Gay, bi-- _All_ of that, they're just, they're just _words_ , got it? At the end of the day? That's not what I care about, they don't mean anything to me." Eren finished, giving Jean a look that was almost a kind of glare. "Tell your friend that for me." For a second, Jean wasn't sure Eren understood what he'd meant, but he didn't want to ask. 

Again, Eren was a complete fucking mystery, if not a pretentious asshole to boot. Did he think he was better than Jean, or anyone else, for not calling himself bi? But even so, it made Jean wonder. Was that why Eren kept trying to hit on Armin after clearly being rejected? It'd make sense, wouldn't it? 

No, Jean couldn't think like that. Eren may have been, understandably, a little rough around the edges, but he had a good reputation for treating people _right_. Even if he couldn't take no for an answer from Armin at first, he must've learned his lesson by now. Armin was some kind of exception, and Eren clearly fucked up too many times.

Jean didn't know how to react, he just hoped no one around them had heard their conversation in much detail. It was strange to him how Eren and Armin, who'd been practically joined at the hip their entire lives, could be torn apart so easily. Jean didn't know the exact details, but he didn't want to find out either. Their predicament reminded him too much of his own situation with Marco.

"...Okay." Jean answered quietly after a while, rethinking his next move. It seemed like Eren thought that this whole meeting was about something else, which made sense since, it wasn't like Eren knew what was going on between Jean and Marco. They actually had the sense to keep _their_ problems as private as possible! 

Still, this had gotten him nowhere but an awkward conversation. "Do you remember, uhh, in like, what was it, I dunno, 7th grade? And you uh, you asked Marco out on a date or something?" Jean asked, feigning ignorance to what he really remembered. It was 8th grade, and it was definitely a date, not just "or something".

In reality, the event always bothered him even though he hadn't been around to see it play out himself. Jean always wondered, did Marco say no because he was straight, because he didn't think Eren was attractive, or because, Eren never really asked him out at all and it was just something someone made up for some reason?

Eren raised one of his eyesbrows, looking a little confused, "Uhh? Seriously? Is _that_ what this is about?" He said it like he was unimpressed, amused even. What in the world had Eren _thought_ it was about before? 

When Jean didn't give a vocal response, Eren sat up straight again as he leaned on the back of his chair, looking as casual as ever. "You sound confused. I didn't ask him out in 7th grade. 8th, and ahh last year, yeah."

It took Jean a second to realize what Eren had just said, his eyes blinking rapidly as the wheels turned in his head. "Wait, y-you asked him out _twice_?" He practically whispered it, as if they were talking about murder and not about petty teen romance. 

Eren nodded, "Uh, yeah? He's _hot_ , he's always been hot. If you weren't such a jackass to me I would've asked you to convince him to give me a chance then." There was no room for silly things like jealousy in Jean's mind, because he knew that Eren was the kind of horny, hormone crazed, aggressive teen that only wanted that one thing; Sex. 

And Jean understood now more than ever that Marco never was, and still isn't, interested in sex. Even despite the fact that Marco had sex at least once, that wasn't even _planned_. Eren was always planning to fuck someone, or at least that's how Jean saw things. 

All the power to him though, honestly. If Jean had looks and confidence like Eren, he'd be having as much sex as possible! At least, in his mind that's what he'd be doing.

Jean really couldn't blame Eren for trying twice. Marco was like, fine wine, getting better and better looking with age. Marco was cute in 8th grade, sure, an attractive kid. But that was just it, he was literally a _child_. Puberty hadn't finished sculpting out all the finer points on him, so to speak. 

Now Marco was only a few months away from being able to call himself a man, before getting laughed at by real adults everywhere as they corrected him, telling him he was still just a kid because he was still just a teenager that is. Even a year ago Marco looked older than he really was. But the important point is, Marco was always nice to look at. 

"A-and he said no, both times, right?" Jean asked desperately, wondering if Marco had actually gone on a date with someone like Eren. Marco was a little naive sometimes, but there was no way that he wouldn't have known that Eren's dates were just a formality to getting sex out of people. 

Marco wouldn't agree to a date with him, would he? With everything that'd happened, it wouldn't really surprise Jean if Marco kept it from him.

"Uh huh." Eren sighed, shrugging. He must've just seen it as a minor inconvenience. Oh, if only Jean could see rejection that way, to just brush it off and keep going, knowing someone else would come up....

"Why!?" Jean asked a little too earnestly, the gears in his brain churning up new things to wonder. Of course Jean knew the most likely reasons, but he was hoping the things that made sense to him were just, not the answer. 

Eren stared at Jean, and as much as he loved to view Eren as an idiot, there was no way he couldn't sense the vibe Jean was giving off. "Why do you care? It was nothing, and I'm glad it was nothing because, it would've been _really_ fuckin' weird if I did it with him and then _Mikasa_ did it with him a few months later, ugh." 

Jean started to blush at the vocal reminder of the no-longer secret fling or whatever that Marco and Mikasa had. Thank God they both had nerves of steel, otherwise, Jean was sure that kids at school would never shut up about it. But the two of them had ignored it, pretended like it didn't happen.

He was surprised with how well they were keeping quiet about it, that it somehow managed to resurface as shitty gossip months afterwards. It didn't matter though, it was starting to die down at school. Gossip was only as good as the Hell it raised, right? Jean tried not to ask questions about it anymore anyway.

"I.... Did he say _why_?" Jean repeated more firmly. Eren didn't look like he was going to answer, and maybe that was because he didn't have one to give, but Jean just hated looking at his face too much to accept that. He just _looked_ like he was daring Jean to do something, or say something. 

It was probably just Jean's imagination, his mind playing tricks on him, still playing on that childish envy of how Eren had _so much_. And Jean's anger that Eren had the audacity to casually throw it all around like it was nothing and then manage to _lose it_.

"What?" Eren started, the beginning of a smile twitching at the edge of his lips, "You drool over him like he's everything, did you finally try to, y'know?" Eren raised his hand, his fingers curled and his thumb outstretched, and he put it in his mouth and flicked it out, making a popping sound with his mouth.

Now Jean was angry. He quickly pulled his hands toward himself, under the table, hugging his arms to himself and rubbing his elbows with his hands, "We are in a _Wal-Mart_!" He scolded quietly, despite the fact that the topic of sex had already come up a couple of times before and there was no more harm done now than before.

But seriously, who told him? Who!? Was it Armin? Or, oh God, did Eren notice the way Jean acted around him sometimes? Did a few boners here and there really speak so much to people!? It wasn't like Eren was the only person in school Jean got his dick up for!

Eren wiped his thumb off on his shirt, the smirk on his face telling absolutely _nothing_. "Chill out, okay? I don't tell everyone when I think someone's 'gay' or not, I told you, I don't really care what you are unless _I'm_ interested in you. But you know what? You shouldn't care what Marco is either." 

Uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe how Jean felt. He felt _violated_ in a way. He wanted to demand how Eren found out that Jean was gay, or that he liked Marco. He wanted to slap Eren and tell him to shut up, because he didn't know shit about Jean or how Jean felt, especially not about Marco. He didn't know what Jean should or shouldn't do. Jean was only here because he wanted an answer out of Eren about what Marco's deal was.

Marco told Jean that he was gay, sure, and that he had a crush on Jean, yes, but that he for whatever reason _couldn't_ date him. Jean couldn't believe it was as simple as that. After all, Armin tried to encourage Jean months ago, lying and saying that he was sure Jean had a chance with Marco. Jean learned that Armin was something other than being straight or gay, seriously not wanting anything to do with romance....

He just wanted to know if Marco was something like that too, and since Armin was unreliable, Eren's questionable sexuality was Jean's only other outlet of information. There was of course the internet, but Jean didn't trust it to tell him the real truth. Strange how he was in such a desperate spot that he was trusting Eren's unbiased sex drive over literally anyone or anything else.

Jean was too stunned to respond, and Eren continued, "He's my friend too, in case you forgot." No, Jean hadn't forgotten. It was part of the reason why Jean had set up this little meeting. If Marco wouldn't tell Jean everything, maybe he trusted his other friends to some things. 

Marco did good by making sure not to invite Jean and Eren to the same little get togethers most of the time, because even he couldn't fully control Jean's stupid, petty anger sometimes. And Eren never could back down from a challenge. How Marco ever dealt with the both of them for so many years was a little miracle in and of itself.

Honestly, he used to think he was competing with Eren, that somehow, it was all Eren's fault that Jean didn't get what he wanted, because it always seemed like Eren had those things. There was even a time where Jean thought that Marco cared more about his other friends, Eren included, than Jean. Sure it was years ago, but Jean had gotten past that shameful mindset, at the very least.

"If he doesn't wanna do that with you, even if he says he's not straight, then he doesn't wanna do it with you, what's so hard to understand about that, huh?" Eren asked, again after Jean had waited too long to say anything. Did Eren _know_ that Marco was gay? Or was he just assuming shit, like always?

Although what he said piqued Jean's interest, making him wonder why, if that was such a simple concept to Eren, then why had he dragged out his relentless chase for Armin? But that wasn't all that important to Jean, especially not now. It wasn't his business.

He wasn't quite sure if Marco's business was Eren's either, but Eren seemed to know enough, and Jean really needed some kind of answer. Marco certainly made it clear that he thought it was best to just, ignore it all and let things disappear naturally. 

Jean didn't think about what he was doing when he tried to explain, "I-I didn't _ask_ to do... that. He said he **couldn't** , do normal stuff. A... a.... Being together. I just wanna know why." He was quiet, avoiding eye contact both to preserve his patience and to avoid the cocky, judgmental stare in Eren's eyes. 

Eren had no right! He'd gone and ruined probably the best relationship he'd ever have, all because, what, he _decided_ that Armin was his next score? He had some nerve to judge Jean for even wondering why he had no chance with Marco.

But Eren only sighed at Jean's explanation, perhaps more exaggerated than was necessary. "Yeah, got it. Y'know, I think it's really sad." Jean looked up, curious yet again. 

"Some people who just... can't, or won't, be into certain people. Girls who can't like girls. Boy who can't love girls. People who can't like anyone at all... who can't, _want_ anything at all... it's sad." He was talking about Armin. 

"Maybe it's just all those words that are stopping people? I dunno. I get that other people are who they are, y'know, they can't change that they're gay, or straight, whatever else. I think I'm just lucky." Eren finished cheerily, although Jean was certain that Eren wasn't being very truthful about how he felt. 

So, Eren was a dickbag who thought he was above everybody else for not calling himself bi and thought everyone else was pitiable if they weren't flexible with their feelings. Okay, cool, Jean would keep that in mind, but that wasn't helping him at all, and he couldn't help but give Eren the evil eye.

"You're a pain in the ass," Eren continued, "But, I don't want Marco worrying about you judging him behind his back so, I'm just gonna give it to you straight, alright? If you wanna spend forever trying to pin a name on whatever it is that Marco is, just, just _stop_." 

What? Was it so wrong for Jean to want to understand something that was clearly very important to Marco, his best and closest friend?

Eren continued, either not noticing or not caring that Jean was giving him a disapproving stare. "You shouldn't be looking for, for some kind of _excuse_ to stop liking him, or keep liking him, or whatever. You're supposed to do things _for him_ , not the other way around." 

Jean was offended! What excuses? He wasn't looking for an excuse for anything! He just wanted to understand Marco, that was all. "And I know," Eren continued, rolling his eyes, "Marco doesn't like anyone asking about that stuff, and it's probably driving you up a wall, but you have to cut it out."

"I don't care, what you do, or how you feel about him, but just, knock it off with the excuses, okay? Do what you're gonna do because Marco's, _Marco_ okay, not because he's, aerodynamic or whatever word you think it is." Aerody _what_? Jean wanted to tell him that he wasn't sure Eren was using that word correctly.

Something even better came to Jean's mind though, "I wasn't asking for relationship advice. Not that you could give me any after what you did to Armin." Jean scoffed in defense, although he kept his voice fairly low as to not draw any attention.

For once in Jean's life, he actually managed to say something that hurt Eren's feelings instead of just angering him. Eren honestly looked shocked for a second, his mouth hanging open just slightly, and the hurt in his eyes more than apparent. Jean had done far more than strike a nerve, he might as well have taken a knife right into Eren's spinal cord. 

"Th-that was.... I made a m-- You know what you need to stop being such an asshole to me! I mean I'm helping _you_ here, god, I don't know what your fucking deal is with me. " Eren's voice had been quiet and shaky at first, although clearly filled with anger, but he quickly managed to straighten himself out again, sounding almost calm. 

Jean shrugged in defense, "Well, what'd you expect? We're not exactly buddies and you just, you just started saying crap like you know what I'm feeling and what I should do, when I didn't even _ask_." Jean knew that he had a point, even if he also knew that Eren had one too. 

"Oh grow up. I know you want my opinion, just because you're too stubborn to actually _ask_ me that doesn't change anything." Eren huffed, calming down instead of getting riled up like Jean was. Luckily, for all Jean's sensitivity, he had the self control not to make a scene in a damn Wal-Mart of all places. 

"And," Eren started before Jean got a chance to say anything, "I don't see why you get to complain that I'm telling you how to act when you have the nerve to sit there and talk about me 'n Armin when you don't even know what I did." 

"Well--" Jean was going to tell him off a bit, tell him that he wouldn't know everything that Armin says when Eren's not around, but he was interrupted. 

"Ah, nope, I don't wanna hear it. Talk to me about Marco before you go do something stupid for him?" Eren set his elbow down on the table and leaned on his hand, a small, forced smile on his face, and a look in his eyes that really only pissed Jean off more. Still, it was no wonder Eren managed to weasel his way into a fair amount of dates, whether he got sex out of everyone or not.

Jean had said too many things about Marco that he probably shouldn't have been sharing with other people to begin with, he wasn't sure he had any right to share any more, especially not with Eren.

Maybe Eren sensed that, because he breathed out of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again and giving out a full blown forced sigh. "I'm not the one who talks shit about people behind their backs, okay, no one has to know anything. Just because Marco doesn't share all his little secrets with me doesn't mean I don't know him or care about what's going on."

Part of Jean wanted to ask what Eren meant by what he first said, but he didn't want to give Eren another good reason to be pissed. They both knew Marco wasn't completely forthcoming about his feelings, especially not if those feelings might jeopardize his relationships with other people. 

Jean did have to basically pry the fact that Marco was gay out of Marco's nervous, guarded mouth. And with the way Jean poorly reacted to the resulting news? Marco had good reason to keep things to himself. But Jean knew firsthand how bad it was to keep things bottled up, he couldn't even come out to his mother properly without unintentionally making it a shit show.

So what other choice did he have than to at least try to trust someone else so if anything, Jean could have some peace of mind even if Marco didn't explain. Although Jean was hoping that Eren knew things about sexuality, so that he could figure out why Marco seemed so against the entire concept of dating. 

Unfortunately it seemed like the only thing Eren knew about sexuality was that it got in the way of him hitting on whoever he wanted. At least Eren knew something about romance, right? 

"What d'you want me to say?" Jean huffed, choking down as much displeasure as he could. "I already told you what he said to me...." He continued, going through his head and playing back the memories as he tried to decide what he definitely could not say. 

"Well I mean what'd you _do_?" Eren asked, and by the look he had on his face Jean just wanted to kick him. Why did he assume Jean wanted to do something sexual to Marco!? Yes, technically he did, but asking for sex was not exactly the way anyone should ever confess their love to someone now is it? 

"I-I already told you that's not what this' about!" Jean said through gritted teeth, his cheeks beginning to hurt from trying so hard not to blush. 

Eren gave a gentle shrug, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, okay. Jeez it's like no one wants to do it anymore. So you asked him out on a date? In my experience, Marco doesn't like to commit to dates. Have you tried surprising him?"

Jean was pretty sure that when he'd confessed to Marco about his love for him out of the blue, and that the ridiculously goofy anonymous love letter was written by him, _and_ practically forcing Marco to come out, was all pretty surprising enough. 

"I didn't ask him _out_ , I, y'know I, told him I liked him, an' asked if he was, y'know." Jean mumbled, making motions with his hand for emphasis. 

He waited for Eren to respond but quickly noticed that he was only waiting for Jean to continue the story, and so with a regretful sigh, he continued. "He said he was... and that he liked me, but, he didn't-- _couldn't_ go out with anyone."

He tried to be quick about the part where Marco said he felt the same way, mainly because, he didn't even want to admit that he was in love with Marco in front of anyone else. Another person to share in his whopping disappointment, yeah, that was the last thing he needed. 

" _Oh_ ," Eren looked surprised, lowering his voice, "So you had a thing going on, and you wanted to get serious, s--" Jean almost couldn't believe that Eren was still on the sex thing. "We're _not_ a 'thing'!" 

Jean could barely live with the embarrassment knowing how much he fantasized about doing sexual things with Marco, and here Eren was, believing that they'd already been having a nice friends with benefits agreement. Did he have no shame? Who imagines their friends are fucking each other without any proof they even liked each other?

Eren looked skeptical, but he shrugged in defeat, "Oh-kay. Did he say anything else?" Jean didn't exactly understand what Eren was getting at. He had all the details that were relevant, anything else just wasn't his business. 

"Like what?" Jean sighed exasperatedly, wishing Eren would just get on with his advice so Jean could overthink it and ultimately decide not to follow it in a week or two. But for whatever reason, Eren really seemed like he was expecting something more. As if there was anything "more" to expect from young teenage love. 

There was nothing exciting about what was going on between Jean and Marco. Neither of them had any dating history to get in the way of things, that's for sure.

"So you tell him you like him, he says he likes you, he doesn't wanna go out with you, and that's it? That's all that happened?" Eren sounded almost disappointed, and Jean figured it was just because Eren was very smooth and persistent when he asked people out. 

He was the complete opposite of how things went when Jean confessed his feelings. But there was no way he was going to admit that he bawled his eyes out, begged, and demanded to know what made him unworthy of being Marco's boyfriend. Eren would never let Jean live news like that down.

"Uh huh." Jean nodded, unintentionally sucking and chewing on the inside of his cheeks. 

"He didn't say anything else about dating? Or you? Really? What'd he just, walk away? Did you shake hands and tip your hats at each other afterwards too?" Eren asked sarcastically, although he sounded less confused and more humored. 

"I don't know, I mean, he said, dating'd be nice for a while but, y'know it, it just wouldn't work out. What else do you need to hear? A whole transcript?" Jean sighed, thinking about the day again. He would like to pretend that the memory crippled him, and that he'd tried hard to erase it from his mind. But in reality? He'd been doing everything in his power to _remember_ it.

The memory was hurtful, true, and it sent shivers up his spine. But it also gave him butterflies in his stomach. The bitter truth that Marco didn't love him and didn't want to go out with him was as painful as the reality that Marco still had feelings for him was sweet. It was comforting almost, if Jean was in the right mood. 

But even then, he tried not to linger on it for too long. Today wasn't even one of those days where the memory made him especially happy, either. Not that it mattered. Jean wasn't going to drag it all out into the open for Eren.

"Woah, are we talking about sex, or _dating_?" Eren asked quietly. As thankful as Jean was that Eren wasn't being loud about it, he was still annoyed that Eren was so convinced that sex was somehow part of the equation. It wasn't what Jean asked him here for, it wasn't relevant to what happened with Marco, so why bother bringing it up so much? 

"This has nothing to do with, with _that_!" Jean huffed, cursing himself as his mind pictured Marco naked. He needed to stop doing that. 

Eren frowned and adjusted himself in his chair, a hint of shame on his face, like a child who got slapped on the hand for doing something wrong. "How am I supposed to know? So it _is_ about sex, not--" Jean wished he'd specified before. "No! _No_. Dating. It's about _dating_."

Jean had nothing else to say, and Eren seemingly didn't either. The two of them just sat there, nothing but the hustle and bustle of shoppers and employees behind them to keep the tension from building. Jean was embarrassed, and as much as his mind wandered in the gutter at least he kept most of it in his head and didn't let it fall out of his mouth every other sentence!

"...And you're worried about what _word_ to call him?" Eren said finally, his tone making it seem like he'd heard some kind of bad joke. 

Jean blinked a few times, confused, "Excuse me?" What word to call who, Marco?

"You're, like, all upset that he doesn't want to date you, so you were trying to ask me if I knew what he 'was'. Right?" Eren explained, although he did so poorly in this case, since Jean wasn't fully understanding him.

"What are you talking about? You mean, his sexuality?" The word "sexuality" was weird for Jean to say out loud, and so he did so quietly. "Because, yeah, I just wanted to know if there's a name for it."

Eren gave him a smile, although Jean only saw it as a condescending smirk. "Try 'commitment issues'. If he was going on about how he likes you, and how it'd be nice to date you for a little bit, and then he said he 'just can't' date you, I mean, c'mon! Don't be such a dumbass."

Jean was more than skeptical. In fact he didn't really believe what Eren was saying. What could he do, though? Eren hadn't been there, it's not like he heard the way Marco was talking. It couldn't just be, "commitment issues".

"You don't look impressed." Eren continued. "You know, I don't think any answer I give you is gonna be good enough. I think, you still just want an excuse to feel however you wanna feel." Again with the excuses thing! Unbelievable.

But Eren didn't stop there, and he practically jumped at the first sign of Jean getting upset again. "You really like him? Is that it? I don't see why you want to know, I mean, what? If you want to get over him, there you go!" 

"If, if you're trying to, convince yourself you have _any_ chance with him," Eren laughed as he said that. "I don't know what you want to hear. But I mean, he's already given you enough to hope for it, right? He likes you? Thinks for whatever ungodly reason he'd be happy dating you? What more do you want?" Eren finished, and he looked like he was forcing back a laugh or two. 

Jean remembered that this _was_ Eren he was talking to. From start to finish Eren clearly had no faith in the possibility that Jean could be more to someone like Marco than just best friends. 

At least Eren had the heart not to lie. It always hurt when Jean had to sit through any of his friends telling him he'd find someone some day, and that he just had to wait for "the right person" to come along. As if anyone was more right than Marco anyway.

Although, Eren did have somewhat of a point, even if Jean didn't want to admit it. He was searching for answers that would give him absolute certainty about where he stood with Marco, and while sexuality might've helped Jean understand, it probably wouldn't explain everything. At least, not in the way Jean needed it to. 

Not unless he asked Marco himself, and Jean couldn't do that. Marco didn't completely reciprocate Jean's feelings, and so Jean had to let things go. But he couldn't do that either, no, not when his heart was still so deeply sick with love for Marco. 

Jean was still stuck. It only made things awkward that it was Eren who had to reinforce that fact into Jean's brain. 

"Well what do you expect me to do?" Jean asked, unsure himself if he was asking Eren seriously or not. 

Would he even take Eren's advice to heart, or would, whatever it was, be tossed aside in spite? Eren ruined his friendship with Armin by trying to force a romantic relationship after all. Whatever advice he had could be repeated from his own failure, or, who knows, maybe it'd be the opposite of how he'd done things and it was actually decent.

"No clue." Eren said with a shrug, quickly tilting his head to the side, that annoying smile still plastered to his face. "But," He said as he pushed back in his chair, "Marco's not a complete idiot. Whatever's going on, he probably knows you're freaking out. Just," Eren stood up, "Try to chill out because you've gotta know he's freaking out too."

Jean wasn't sure exactly what Eren meant, but he could imagine. Things were fine between him and Marco, and they were pretty much back to acting normal around each other again by now. Just as Jean was was hiding all his questions and worries though, he knew Marco must have been doing the same. 

It was just who Marco was, and as much as Jean hated it and wanted to change it, things stayed the way they were. Marco didn't like to make other people feel bad because of something he said, felt, or did, and so the best way to avoid that kind of discomfort, logically, was to pretend there was nothing to be uncomfortable about. 

The shows Marco could put on, the _lies_ he could come up with given the right amount of time, were almost indistinguishable from the real thing. The Marco who had nothing to worry about, nothing to check himself on so he wouldn't turn a care free day into a bad one. 

Jean liked to believe Marco wouldn't lie to him, not much or at least in big ways. But that obviously wasn't true for anyone. Because Jean was just never that great at hiding his feelings, but Marco acted well enough to cover for the both of them. 

He was sure that to anyone else, for the past month, things between the two of them must have seemed as normal as ever. But to anyone who actually knew Marco well, they'd know something had changed. 

Jean was relieved that Marco had promised not to mention the whole truth to his family, especially about Jean being gay, to keep either of them from feeling too much stress.

But maybe Marco was panicking and freaking out more than Jean was, because his best friend, his _best friend in the whole world_ , was in love with him. At least, Jean knew that it wasn't a wholly terrible thing to Marco to think about.

He didn't understand exactly how Marco felt, but they talked in that one day, and Marco had either become an excellent liar or he'd simply done a good job at making sure Jean didn't misunderstand the whole rejection thing as something more than, well, whatever it was.

Jean had, apparently, nothing wrong with him. It was all on Marco, because he "couldn't" date anyone, or so he said. Jean might not have been trying his hardest to accept that at face value and not question it, but who could blame him? He was heart broken and confused, he just wanted to know if it was possible for things to be different somehow.

At this point Jean would rather cuddle up next to Marco and just ask him what's wrong, rather than curl up in a ball and cry about being rejected. If only Marco was more open about these kinds of things, then Jean wouldn't have to worry as much. And he wouldn't have to be sitting in a god damn Wal-Mart with Eren, either.

Eren's phone buzzed, and like a trained dog he immediately checked it before standing up. "Where're you going?" Jean asked. Eren didn't even bat an eye as he shook the bag in his hand, "Gotta deliver these tampons some time today." Oh. So, there actually were tampons in that bag.

Jean was all too stunned in discomfort to really say anything, and definitely too stubborn to thank Eren for even entertaining the idea of giving Jean some form of, maybe half decent advice. 

But just as Jean thought that he'd be left alone, Eren shoved his phone into his back pocket. "I don't even know why you're talking to me." There was a tone to his voice that just, pissed Jean off, and the look on his face wasn't any better. For a while there, it was almost like Eren _didn't_ think he was superior to Jean in every way. 

"Seriously, you're coming to _me_ to try and figure out Marco? I mean you're basically talking about him behind his back, in the not good way," Eren explained, and while he didn't have a smug little condescending smirk on his face like he always seemed to have when he was putting people down, Jean could see it in his eyes. 

"Have you tried actually _talking to him_?" Eren continued slowly, pausing between words as if Jean were a fucking child. 

The last time Jean tried to just talk to Marco, it didn't really go so well. And Eren said it himself before, Marco just doesn't like to talk about the kinds of things Jean wants to know. 

Before Jean could try to defend himself, or throw a snide comment back at him just to shut him up, Eren decided to keep running his mouth, "I'm just saying, if you're not going to stop trying to 'understand him' then it'd be nice if you didn't ask other people. It's rude. And maybe it's rude to ask him, but at least you're not making a gossipy little mess about it that way." He even did actual air quotes with his hands. The nerve of some people.

"Yeah, okay, talk to me about not being rude when you can kiss an' make up with other people." Jean muttered back, rolling his eyes. The sass was his main line of defense, and while he could probably sit there all day trying to tear Eren a new one by nitpicking every little thing he could remember Eren ever doing wrong... he did have a point. 

And, if nothing else, Eren wouldn't have any reason to tell Jean something that might just fuck things over for Marco. Unless he was just, really desperate, and this was an elaborate scheme to get Jean to fuck up so that Marco would be emotionally vulnerable, so much so that he'd stop talking to Jean and then Eren could swoop in and get that hot date/rebound he was probably desperate for.

That was just ridiculous though, and it definitely wasn't the case. Although in Jean's mind it was _possible_. Paranoia and low self esteem were one wild combo. No matter what Eren said, Jean probably would have looped it all straight back around to a similarly ridiculous conclusion, even if deep down he knew it wasn't true. 

"Suit yourself." Eren said with a shrug, "At least _try_ not to stress each other into early graves?" He gave a wave with his fingers and started to walk away, gaining speed the further away he got. 

Marco, stressed into an early grave, huh? If Marco was ever worried about something like that he probably would've stopped being friends with Jean once he found out that he'd masturbated with a banana. Then again, as far as Jean could tell, Marco was more likely to stress himself death than anyone else. 

For Jean? He was fine, really. As cool as a cucumber, even! He worked best under pressure, time and feelings be damned. Tears were no match for his sheer stubbornness to fail even when he most definitely was screwing up. But honestly if he could masturbate with the things he'd masturbated with and _not_ get caught, he must've been doing something right to fight back all the stress. Right? 

Jean would've flipped Eren off in an act of petty self comfort, but it was Wal-Mart, and there were a nice 16 dollars in his pocket that said "Yes, the frozen chocolate chip pancakes _are_ on sale today". How could Jean miss out on those by getting himself kicked out of the store? 

He also had another few other dollars, that were singing a tune along the lines of "please shave or something". It was going to be a nice but busy day, to say the least.

* * *

The awkward pain of secret, young heart break wasn't the easiest thing for Jean to just, shove in a little metaphorical box in his brain and put away for a while. Like a few nights ago, and many before it, it would creep up on him whenever it felt like it, taking entire moments of contentedness and crushing it to pieces.

Jean was used to covering for himself when his mood changed or his face suddenly decided to take on a grumpy scowl for no apparent reason, but this was different! This wasn't like, remembering he forgot to do homework that is definitely not bullshit-able during home room. No, this was, this was his _heart_ , okay?

Every little reminder of that day, the way Marco tried so hard to avoid breaking the truth to Jean, and the look on his face? All of it made it feel like Jean's heart just flopped out of his chest and onto the floor.

But it was always the little things that could really swing Jean's mood in one direction or another. A single asshole's snide remark that could ruin his day, or finding a quarter on the floor doing the opposite. For now that "little thing" to overcome the huge disappointment of rejection, was Easter prep.

You would think for a household that is at least kind of Catholic, everyone would make a big deal out of the, arguably, most absurd holiday of the year. In reality for them, it was just Thanksgiving with a pastel color palette, and instead of spitting on history they disregarded everything about the religion it came from. 

At least with things like Thanksgiving and Christmas they painted over the real purposes of the celebration with messages about giving and caring. Easter? It was just another excuse to make lots of food, in Jean's mind. 

On a rare occasion they would actually go to his Nana's, and treat Easter with the proper respect the religious parts of the holiday actually deserved, but they didn't do that this year. Which was fine with Jean, since it was usually way more public and less of a family gathering than Christmas was. It wasn't fun.

Jean wasn't one to complain about extra food though, especially not when it was a home made meal. Yes, his mom made dinner often enough, but holidays meant breaking out the fancy recipes, and Jean loved the fancy shit when it came to food. 

Having to work even a little bit to help his mom with getting everything together wasn't too bad. It would be just the two of them and their free loader, it wasn't like there was a lot of food to make to begin with. 

The second that Jean remembered one of those even smaller things though, was when he started to worry. His mom was looking all over the kitchen, clearly looking for something, and now Jean knew why. They were having roasted chicken this year.

Jean knew he'd forgotten _something_ at Walmart! He'd been so focused on is own problems and trying not to get pissed off at Eren, he didn't even think about grabbing a cheap replacement turkey baster while he was there.

Not that anyone could blame him though, it wasn't like it was something he'd want to keep on his mind. Who wants to remember that they fucked themselves with a kitchen utensil while fantasizing about riding their best friend's dick? 

Well, Jean would kinda wanna remember, but in his current situation it was best to push those things as far away form his mind as possible.

There was nothing he could do now but sit there and hope his mom couldn't tell that he was the one to blame for the missing essential part of dinner. Jean was already nervous enough to start thinking of excuses. It was starting to feel like Christmas all over again.

After circling around the kitchen and muttering to herself for about the 4th time in a row, Jean's mother turned around with a frustrated glare on her face, "Do either of you have _any_ idea where the baster is?" 

Jean tried his best to focus on cutting the carrots that were on the counter in front of him, but shrugged silently anyway to avoid further suspicion. Worst case scenario Jean could just say he stepped on it and threw it away, but he wasn't sure how well that would even work. Otherwise, why not just tell someone? It's not like it was an expensive item.

"Hitch?" Jean's mother asked, turning her attention to said freeloader. At least she was helping with the dinner prep? But she wasn't earning any points from Jean just because she was willing to chop a couple of onions and salt some pasta salad. 

"I don't do the dishes, I don't know." Hitch answered plainly, also not taking her eyes off her own task. Jean would have loved to make a snide comment there about how Hitch never did a damn thing, but he didn't want to draw his mother's clearly annoyed attention over to him.

"Well," Jean's mother started up again, looking around the kitchen, "I haven't used it in weeks, and I know I put it away. You're both _sure_ you haven't seen it? Jeany, you didn't lend it to a friend or something?" 

Jean squinted as he stared down at the carrots, but only for a second. "Uhh, no?" He answered, hoping the slight annoyance in his voice would hide any more obvious anxiety.

Firstly, why would anyone need to _borrow_ a turkey baster? Secondly, when did Jean ever entrust their bake-wear or kitchen utensils to anyone? He lent a cake pan to someone _once_ and never saw the damn thing again, he'd learned his lesson years ago.

"Just you wait, we're going to get a new one, and then next month we're gonna find it somewhere!" Jean's mother continued, rounding the corner and opening the pantry door. 

The baster definitely wasn't in there, but Jean didn't want to point that out and somehow implicate himself by sounding so sure. The poor thing was cracked and sitting in a landfill by now, probably. All because Jean just had 0 impulse control.

Jean looked over at the chicken sitting on the far side of the counter though, and his mild regret and shame seemed to dissipate a little. He could only imagine how hard Easter would be if he'd kept their old baster, assuming it didn't crack. 

Having to eat a chicken that had been bathed in its own juices by something that he used to masturbate with? It'd be taking the term "eating ass" to a different level, that's for sure. 

"Ow!" Jean hadn't been paying enough attention to the carrots he was slicing, too absorbed in his thoughts, and cut a bit of his finger instead. Great, just what he needed. Another thing to make him look suspicious! 

He put the knife down off the cutting board and stood up, practically tripping over his chair as he tried to turn around. Something about both his hands not being free just seemed to screw up his entire sense of balance, but he couldn't just let blood drip on the carpet, god no.

"What happened?" His mother asked, poking her head around the corner. Jean silently made his way to the sink as fast as he could without running, because he really didn't intend to make a big scene out of it. 

Unfortunately, Hitch had to do what she did best, "He cut his finger and got blood all over the carrots. You should've let me cut everything." She sighed loudly, a shuffling sound following after which could only be her taking all the carrots off of Jean's cutting board. 

"It's not _everywhere_!" Jean protested as he bumped the sink handle up to turn the water on. "And shut up, you didn't even wanna help!" He added, particularly annoyed that Hitch would try to pretend she wanted to help with a damned thing today.

But the deed had been done, Hitch had blown things out of proportion and now Jean's mom was in a panic. "Oh my goodness Jean are you alright!? How bad is it-- Let me see!" She insisted as she practically shoved her face in this sink to see Jean's finger.

Jean jerked to the side, pulling his hands away from the running water, "Mom! It's _fine_!" 

"For Christ's sake just let me see, you could need stitches!" His mother insisted, grabbing Jean's injured hand and holding it up to get a better view of it. 

The tone of Jean's cellphone started to go off, and he was glad to have the excuse to pull his hand away. "See? It's fine!" He huffed as he made his way over to the roll of paper towels on the counter, tearing off a couple of sheets and crumpling them up before pressing them to the cut on his finger. 

He escaped into the living room couch so his mother would have no choice but to at least stop to clean up the mess that was the cutting board Jean was using. He had no idea who was calling him, and he'd been glad that they had, until he pulled out his phone and looked at who it was.

Without a second thought he muted the volume and shoved his phone back in his pocket, grunting and huffing air out of his nostrils. It was his aunt. Again. Jean didn't hate her or anything but this wasn't the first time she'd called in the recent weeks. 

She also wasn't the only one of Jean's more distant family members on his mother's side to have taken a sudden interest in calling him to "see how he was doing". Perhaps she was the most persistent of them all, but it made no difference to Jean. At this point they were all equally annoying flies trying to ruin the semi-decent picnic that was Jean's life.

Jean's mother had done him the favor of telling everyone that he was gay. Well, Jean was sure that his mom hadn't called _everyone_ , but it didn't take a dozen phone calls to make such news spread like the plague it was. It only took a few people, who would then call another few people, and so on and so forth. 

Now, everyone knew he was gay, and this changed everything for some people in his family, Jean had known it would for years. And maybe it wouldn't be so annoying if they didn't ask things like, if Jean had a boyfriend or something. 

Being rejected by Marco was something he was still desperately trying to cope with, and being constantly reminded by his family that he was gay and being asked if he was seeing anyone wasn't helping with that. Jean just wished they'd all grow the fuck up and mind their own business.

At the same time though, Jean couldn't get too mad at them. He knew that to them it must have been very strange that Jean had gone so many years without mentioning a damned thing about crushes, or interest in girls or boys or romance _at all_. 

Sure they were all in a buzz that Jean was gay but, they were probably just as interested in the fact that Jean had interest in _anything_ at all after so many years of dodging all the remarks about girls and relationships.

Jean was sure that it would die down soon though. It would get to a point where his distant family would only bother him on Facebook, without the energy or nerve to give him a phone call. And he could ignore Facebook pretty easily. 

Was it really so much to ask to be left alone, though? It was Easter weekend! Shouldn't everyone be, well, doing their legitimate Catholic Easter things? Church? Or something? 

"Alright I've got some band-aids for you!" He heard his mother say from behind him. Jean pulled the paper towels away from his hand with a sigh, aggravated by the tone in his mother's voice. It was that helpful tone, the same kind she used when she'd tried to defend their family's actions in harassing Jean for information.

"Okay. Thanks." Jean tried not to sound annoyed and ungrateful as he took the box. Did he feel a little resentment towards his mother for telling other people without his permission? Yeah. Was Jean going to hold a grudge about it forever? No, but he could try. 

This was just, one of those things to his family, that didn't seem like something that had to be kept a secret. And at the very least, he hadn't seen anyone in his family make public posts about it. So everyone had some idea of what privacy was, even if it was only a little.

Jean wiped his cut finger one more time before unwrapping a band-aid and carefully wrapping it around his finger. It was one of those stretchy fabric type band-aids, the ones that could cut off your circulation if you wrapped it too tight. Jean used to do it for fun, because for whatever reason when he was a child he thought his fingers going numb and red was _cool_.

"Why don't you go check the mail? I think we've got the vegetables handled!" His mother said casually as she walked back towards the kitchen. For once, she either took the hint that Jean didn't need her fussing about every little thing he did, or she simple hadn't realized and honestly just didn't think she needed to hover over Jean worrying about the cut.

Honestly he'd rather just go bury his face into his mattress and scream. Or play in traffic and embrace death, but you know, whichever. Jean hadn't fully decided yet.

Jean got up and headed for the door, ignoring what he assumed was a snide remark from Hitch about his ability to do anything. He grabbed his mother's keychain and slipped his feet into some flip flops before yanking the front door open, immediately wincing at the breeze.

March was ending and yet, it was still a little chilly. The air was like a gentle "Fuck you" from nature, a parting gift even. Jean didn't know whether to be glad or annoyed. Cold weather was just better, hands down. But Spring also meant his birthday. Although, it also meant exams, and pollen, and bugs, and acne flare ups, and....

Well, Jean had made up his mind. He definitely welcomed the bitterness that was leftover from what should have been an icy February. If he ever did move out of this town, he'd have no choice but to go north. Maine sounded good.

Although Jean was excited when he opened the mail box and saw a letter from his Nana inside. Was it his birthday card? She always sent the birthday stuff early just in case it got lost in the mail. Would it be a Visa card this year? Or just cash? As long as it wasn't a Wal-Mart gift card he'd be satisfied.

Jean closed and locked the mail box and then hurried his way back the the house, though he was half-tempted to try opening the letter while walking. Luckily he had the sense to realize how badly that would end up, with the rest of the mail likely to go flying on the breeze. Jean could only imagine how terrible his day would get from then on if he let that happen.

He flicked through the rest of the mail as he stepped back into the house and closed the door, just to see if there was anything else for him. But like always, there was nothing. Not that he was really expecting it, and he didn't really know what to hope for either. One day he'd get tons of mail. Bills and spam by the ton, right?

Aside from the letter from his Nana, Jean tossed all the mail onto the coffee table in the living room as he plopped down on the couch. His mother was discussing something about cows with Hitch, and Jean didn't bother asking what it was they were on about. They, or rather his mom because Hitch just loves being bitter, would tell him later if it was really so important and interesting.

Jean tore open the letter excitedly, a small smile on his face. He probably would've been more excited if certain other events hadn't happened beforehand, but it would take a lot more than that to make him unenthusiastic about free money of all things.

But almost like a recurring trend, Jean's face lowered in disappointment, a wave of stupidity washing over him. It wasn't a birthday card, it was an Easter card. How could he forget? Of course one of these was going to be in the mail, just like every year they didn't visit her for the holiday. 

As much as he'd love to complain, he knew it'd only earn him nagging from his mother. So he pushed down as much of the feeling as he could and tilted his head back, holding the card up, "'Got the Easter card from Nana!" He announced, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the conversation his mother was having with Hitch. 

"Go on then, what does it say? Read it! My hands are covered in chicken juice!" His mother responded, lifting her hands up gently to show him. Jean winced, wishing she'd stop doing that. Did she really not think about all the salmonella she was going to get everywhere? 

But he said nothing, only rolling his eyes once he was he wouldn't be seen doing so. Jean ignored the front of the card, which had a bible verse and some generic religious imagery on it, and flipped open the card. 

He took a deep breath before starting to kick all the disappointed, annoyed, and any leftover nervousness from before out of his voice, God forbid his mom thought that he was mocking the card. 

"'Hope you all have a wonderful Easter brunch and enjoy the time together as family. Don't forget to say grace, I'll see you all soon. Lots of love...'" Jean stopped and reread the previous line, confused. "Mom, is Nana coming down to visit?" He asked as he turned his head.

His mother shrugged, "Oh, no I don't think so. Maybe! I'll call. And was that it?" It had been a while since his Nana last visited. In fact, now that Jean thought about it, it'd been a few years.

"Just some religious stuff on the front." Jean answered after a sigh, setting the card down with the rest of the mail. 

He shouldn't really be upset that his very religious Nana would ask him to say grace on a religious holiday, but too bad. Jean _was_ upset. He didn't like saying grace, or just not being able to eat immediately, really.

"What else do you need help with?" Jean asked as he got off the couch and walked into the kitchen. Cutting anything was obviously out of the question, but he was annoyed with Hitch acting like she was doing all the work.

But his mother only smiled and shooed him away with her hand, "You already cut yourself, and we're almost done here anyway. How about you do the dishes afterwards?" 

Jean scoffed, "What!? Why do I have to do the dishes? Can't Hitch do them for once-- She never does the dishes!" And for once he felt triumphant, because Hitch couldn't deny it. 

Hitch stabbed the potato she was cutting a little too aggressively, "I do them _sometimes_!" God damn it. 

"Enough! Both of you!" Jean's mother snapped, snatching the knife away from Hitch's cutting board. "Now I'm going to the store afterwards to buy another baster for tomorrow, and a few other things. I was _going_ to take her with me to help with the rest of the list of things we needed, alright?"

Jean let his arms fall down to his sides, "Whatever. How'm I supposed to do dishes with, with this cut on my finger? It's gonna get wet and then it's gonna open up again and I'll just, like, bleed over everything!" He lifted his hand slightly for emphasis, twitching the wounded finger in question.

His mother rested her wrists on her forehead, her hands still wet from seasoning the chicken, "Oh my goodness, alright, alright! You can do them tomorrow then." 

Jean's eyes widened, his jaw hanging open slightly for a moment until he saw the smug look on Hitch's face. "Why can't _she_ do 'em when you get _back_!?" 

"Oh stop it, Jean, you're giving me attitude. She's already done a lot of work today, what's so hard about doing the dishes? You can even let them soak overnight! Just make sure you don't lose anything, we don't need another problem like the turkey baster." She explained in a tone that Jean only knew as her "no nonsense" voice.

Jean was defeated, but he refused to end the conversation feeling that way. "Well, okay fine then, then I'm going to hang out with my friends for the rest of the day!" 

Somehow in that moment Jean thought he was being defiant, as if he ever did anything _but_ waste his weekends away with his friends, if he could manage it. Although his plans for the day had mostly involved just staying home, contemplating whether or not he wanted to make dyed deviled eggs this year.

"That's fine." His mother replied, rightfully unoffended by Jean's attempt at "winning" the discussion. Jean hated the diplomatic approach so many parents had. 

Sure Hitch wasn't closely related to them but still! She shouldn't be allowed to act all smug and superior to Jean without getting punished in some way. Jean wished she'd either drop out of college or just graduate already and move to literally anywhere else.

Jean didn't have the nerve to attempt storming off and risk his mother thinking he was giving too much attitude. Getting yelled at just didn't seem like a fun idea, and he begrudgingly walked away as respectfully as he could force himself to be.

God he really needed to complain to someone. The internet was always an option. He could bitch, moan, whine, and complain about anything he wanted as much as he wanted. The best part? No one could criticize him without getting blocked, and then it'd be like no one had bugged him at all.

He'd just have to remember to keep his complaints to a minimum on Facebook. The slightest hint of maybe possibly sorta kind of relationship problems and _someone_ just had to ask.

Jean was certain that if he complained about his mom nagging him, his distant family would assume that his mother was nagging him about some _boy_ he was interested in. 

As if he would ever talk about crushes with his mom, ugh. Never! She was the last person on the face of the planet that Jean would ever want to hear anything relationship-related from. 

Jean wanted to relax on his bed and just pull up his laptop for a while, but he instinctively checked his phone before leaning over to grab the charging cord.

> "hey, u busy? do you wanna come over or something?" 

A couple of texts from Marco. Hm. Jean couldn't help but swallow as he stared at his phone. They still hadn't gotten back to the way things were, not completely. In a way, Jean was walking on eggshells with him up until recently.

He didn't think he could test out Eren's dazzling advice today, assuming he ever would. It'd be nice to just have a normal afternoon with Marco for once, if he could manage it. And who better to soak up all of Jean's bitching from today than Marco?

Marco seemed like he was being casual enough, but he must've known that Jean was in fact busy. It was the day before Easter, there was some pre-cooking to do just like every year. 

For whatever reason, Marco's family just didn't celebrate Easter anymore. They used to, putting on a whole show with an egg hunt and everything. Maybe Marco's parents were only doing it to please the whims of their kids, and when Marco got "too old" for the pastel bunny mascot holiday it was the final nail in the coffin.

Now they just went out to eat on Easter most years. Lucky them, they didn't bother to slave away in their kitchen for two days for an excuse to sit around with family in between Christmas and Thanksgiving. 

When other, more reasonable methods failed, Jean used to try weaseling his way out of visiting his Nana's for Easter by claiming Marco's family had invited them to eat with them at some fancy restaurant. 

He was always told that he could go some other time, but Jean's excuse was always about how terrible of a friend he'd be to Marco if they had to cancel a reservation? It never worked, of course, but he had to try.

For a second Jean thought about trying to slip away to do it this year, just to get away from familial obligation for once. But for obvious reasons, that'd be even worse than having to sit at a table with his overly curious mother and their useless free loading witch.

Jean sighed again and debated setting his phone down and just charging it like he'd planned. But Marco clearly really wanted to spend time with him. It definitely, absolutely wasn't like Jean missed him, or the way things used to be. Whenever "used to be" really was. 

Besides, his birthday was coming up, and Jean could use this opportunity to harass Marco about what kind of gift he was getting for him this year. Knowing Marco, he'd probably overcompensated because of how distant Jean had been. 

Not that Jean wanted to take advantage of Marco's sentiment! It was just, looking at the bright side of an unfortunate situation.

In all seriousness though, Jean did want to see Marco. And not just to bug him or complain, either.

  
  
The weather was so inconsistent on his walk over to Marco's house. The cold breeze that was enough to make Jean's hairs stand up on his arms, and the warmth from the sun peeking behind the clouds. 

It was annoying for sure, but it helped Jean keep his thoughts from wandering too far off in his mind. Like how familiar it felt to Valentine's Day and the days after it. 

But that thinking wasn't so fresh in his mind as it had say a few weeks ago, especially not when Jean had far more recent things to be upset about! Those would be the things Jean would be able to talk about with Marco for sure without feeling awkward.

Sometimes Jean just had a hard time figuring out what to talk about with Marco when it came to casual conversations. Without much else to focus on but Marco, Jean always ended up thinking about how he felt about Marco, and how he'd been rejected. 

Time was doing all it could to make that happen less, and today was one of the days where Jean was going to really try to keep himself from thinking that way. Otherwise, he'd never get anywhere. 

Marco would definitely move on, Jean would just be stuck, and who knew what kind of bullshit would come out of that? 

Thankfully, Jean wasn't really thinking too much on that either as he stood at the front door to Marco's house, and he didn't hesitate very long before knocking on the door a few times. 

And very much unlike last month, Marco actually answered the door, "Hey!" He greeted Jean with a small smile, although his voice cracked a little, and guessing by the look on his face Jean could only assume that Marco hadn't been up for long.

Jean stepped into the house and looked Marco up and down as he kicked his shoes off, "Did you just like, fall out of bed or something?" Usually, Marco was so good at cleaning up in the morning. How he could brush his teeth, fix up his hair, get dressed, and still have time for breakfast in the morning was a real mystery.

Marco rubbed his eye as he closed the door, shrugging. Maybe he woke up from a nightmare or something and was too embarrassed to tell him? Or he had a hangover! No, no, maybe it was _drugs_?

"I was up all night, playing video games and stuff." Marco explained with yet another shrug. Damn. Everything was always so much simpler than in Jean's head. Most of the time anyway. Maybe not for some things.

"Gettin' married again?" Jean mocked, although he couldn't get away fast enough to avoid Marco slapping him in the shoulder. " _Stop_." Marco scoffed as he tried and failed to hide his blushing.

Jean didn't apologize. Instead he headed straight for the kitchen, eager to steal a soda. Marco may have been the tired one, but Jean was pretty sure that at this point he was addicted to caffeine and just couldn't function without a constant supply of it. 

"Are you getting soda? Get me one too." Marco said as he followed Jean into the kitchen, turning the sink on.

Jean wanted to gag when he saw some Coke Zero cans in the fridge, but vowed not to complain about it and risk a lecture from Marco's parents. There was still regular soda in the fridge, so it wasn't like he had to go digging poor Marco's grave.

"Y'know if you're so tired why not just sleep in?" Jean asked as he set the cans down on the island. Marco was as good at keeping a decent sleep schedule as Jean was good at algebra. So, terribly, but Jean wasn't sure if there was a teenager within 100 miles that could survive with a "good" sleep schedule.

" _Because_ , spring is coming so we have to get the garden ready, right? So, my mom woke me up to go get fertilizer and stuff." Marco explained quietly, probably to avoid either of his parents from hearing him complain.

Jean was so glad that his mother never bothered with that kind of thing, save for some planters they had in the house with flowers and leafy plants just to look pretty. Growing fruits and vegetables though? Fuck that. 

He'd take his shitty chemically sprayed GMO carrots from the grocery store over hard work and filthy backyard "organic" crap any day. Why did they call it organic anyway? They're plants, everything's organic! Isn't it? 

"They didn't make you like, start gardening n' shit _today_ , right?" Jean asked, ready to be both sympathetic and teasing if need be. Marco would only stab him right back though, making him feel like a pompous ass for giving a shit about the difference between the names of certain paint colors.

Marco turned the sink off and shook the water off of his hands, "What? No, thank god, I'd be dead asleep right now. And that'd be like, a punishment, not a chore." Were they not one in the same?

"Oh. Lucky you. Well I cut my finger trying to cut carrots earlier, so that was fun." Jean lifted his finger a little to draw attention to it. Marco stared at it for a moment as he grabbed the other soda can, the smallest hint of worry on his face. 

God, he was too precious. If the cut were anything even remotely serious Jean would've exaggerated to that effect, just to sound impressive. Jean secretly liked that extra, unwarranted attention from his friends.

"I'm fine." Jean stated plainly, just to make sure Marco didn't ask with that worried voice of his. 

That was enough for Marco, and he backed off and popped open his can of soda like nothing happened. "So what're you guys makin' this year?" 

Marco took a few gulps of soda like his life depended on it, and who knows, maybe it _did_ if his sleep schedule was really so messed up. Then he set the can down and wandered towards the snack cabinet, grabbing a huge bowl from the dish drainer on his way across the kitchen. 

Jean didn't bother to ask what Marco was getting, he just slouched over the kitchen island and shrugged a little, "Just like, a whole chicken with vegetables and stuff. Mashed potatoes, Hawaiin rolls, nothing crazy." 

Marco made a disappointed sound as he pulled a bag of pretzels from the cabinet, "Awh. Okay so, no banana bread then?" And damn it all, the gentle pout on his face as he looked over his shoulder. 

" _Jesus_ , Marco, why're you such a slut for that stuff? Go out and buy a box mix yourself!" Jean scoffed, amazed and yet somehow not surprised. 

"A box mix!?" Marco sounded almost offended, as he rightfully should be. Quick breads out of a box just, weren't the same as home made. "And hey I'm not a--... I'm not a _slut_ okay if anyone's a slut here for bananas it's _you_!" Marco lowered his voice to something just above a whisper.

Jean sucked in the tops of his cheeks, biting down on them to keep himself from blushing in embarrassment. He didn't have the nerve to crack a joke about Marco's far more, _risky_ , sexual adventures, so to speak.

Marco set the bowl down on the counter and proceeded to dump way more pretzels than was necessary for any one human being into it. "Exactly. So hush." Marco said, satisfaction in his voice. 

He was just lucky that Jean _didn't_ bring up Marco's fuck up, what with Marco's parents being home. Neither of them had good cover explanations, Jean knew that for sure. Jean wasn't as skilled as Marco at pretending awkward things hadn't happened, so he tried to just look away and drink his soda in silence. 

Apparently Marco wasn't going to let things stay that way, "C'mon I wanna watch T.V. or something, can'you grab the bowl?" He said as he started to roll the pretzel bag closed.

Without another word, Jean took the opportunity to flee, taking his soda and the bowl with him into the living room. He set the bowl down on the center cushion of the couch, and then sat down on the far side. With any luck, Marco wouldn't completely miss it and then plant his ass in the bowl by mistake.

Jean took another few sips of his soda, checking over his shoulder a couple of times just to make sure that Marco's parents weren't around. There was no safe flat surface near him to put the can down, and they'd definitely get upset if they thought he might spill it.

Marco stopped in front of the couch, blinking as he looked at Jean. Was he confused about something? If he was, he must not have been for long, because he sat next to the pretzel bowl opposite of Jean, carefully.

"So what're your mom n' dad doing? Are they doing all the gardening while you just sit back and eat pretzels?" Jean asked, moving his hand to grab some pretzels from the bowl. 

He'd forgotten how much he liked hard pretzels as he shoved the first little handful into his mouth. They were the smooth, square kind too. Buttersnaps or something, if he remembered correctly. The larger grains of salt being crushed between his teeth were far better than the tiny stuff on any potato chip. So much salt without all the mess.

As usual, Marco's family always managed to get the good shit. Jean would have to remember to grab a bag next time he slithered away to Wal-Mart on a mini shopping spree.

Marco yawned as he looked around the couch for something. Jean noticed Marco's slightly confused yet unenthusiastic behavior and decided to look around on the floor, "Uhh, looking for this?" He asked, bending down to pick up the remote off the floor. 

"Yah," Marco mumbled quickly, taking the remote from Jean's hand and immediately changing the channel. Apparently Marco didn't feel in the mood to watch people play Jeopardy.

As the dreaded channel flipping began, Marco took another drink of his soda before answering Jean, "My mom's doing spring cleaning in the garage, y'know, to get everything organized so we can find everything for the yard?"

"What? And your dad's not helping her? 'Guess they gotta get a divorce now." Jean joked exaggeratedly, although his eyes were focused only on the television.

Marco may have understood it was a joke, but he was either too tired to laugh to just didn't think it was funny enough for one. "Shh, don't give them any ideas." Laughter or not, Jean could hear the smile from Marco's voice, and that was good enough for him.

"But no," Marco continued, "My dad got called into work so he can't help with cleaning today. He's making dinner though so I mean, I think my mom won this one." 

Jean finished swallowing his current mouthful of pretzels and went to grab more, but hesitated when he realized he'd only choke if he tried to talk right afterwards. "Why? It's like, Saturday. And Easter's tomorrow."

Marco shrugged, "I dunno, someone fucked something up, or something, and so my dad's gotta go fix things. But it's extra money so it's not the _worst_ thing in the world." 

He was always looking at the bright side of things, but of course even Jean would accept pretty much any inconvenience if money came out of it. Although when his mom worked extra hours, it usually didn't mean more cool stuff and was generally just, less crap stuff. Brand name peanut butter for _weeks_!

"Ah. That sucks." Jean stated the obvious, although there wasn't much else to say. It was pretty much the usual with Marco's family anyway, aside from Ymir. Jean had no idea what she did, and most of the time, he didn't _want_ to know.

Marco gave a hum in acknowledgement, and Jean took that as his chance to stuff more pretzels into his mouth. But Jean remembered something, and started to chew the pretzels a bit faster so that he could ask about it before the subject changed and he ended up forgetting. 

"So uhh, you didn't tell me Eren asked you out last year." He tried to say it casually, but considering their situation with each other it wasn't like it could sound anything less than awkward.

He'd expected Marco to look confused or something, but all he did was snort and nearly choke on the pretzels in his mouth. "Who told you that?" Marco asked as he covered his mouth with his hand, although if he was trying to hide the amused smile on his face it wasn't working.

"Eren kinda mentioned it?" Jean explained with a shrug, going for another few pretzels just in case he really needed an excuse to not say anything. 

But Marco still didn't seem upset in the slightest, "Oh yeah? And what'd he tell you?" Marco sounded really interested, dropping the hand from his face to reveal a wide smile. Jean couldn't tell if Marco just, legitimately though it was funny or not.

Jean shuffled the pretzels in his hands, shaking his head a little and giving a half shrug, "I dunno, nothing, he just kinda mentioned it y'know? You tell me." 

And it was as if that was _exactly_ what Marco wanted to hear, another snort followed by a laugh coming from his mouth. "You know what he asked me?" Marco asked. He waited, too, like he actually expected Jean to guess.

The anticipation was eating at Jean, because it honestly could be _anything_ when it came to Eren. For all he knew, Eren tried offering a blowjob to Marco or something! And what did Jean know? What if _that's_ how Marco "found out" he was gay?

"He asked me," Marco began more quietly, leaning in a little, "If I wanted to skip school and go get McDonald's with him."

Jean set his soda can down on the floor as quickly as possible, and cracked the pretzels in his hand as he broke into his own laughter, his mind having been so unprepared for something so fucking ridiculous. " _Pfffttssh_ , what? _McDonald's_!?" 

Jean couldn't even contain his laughter to ask anything further, dropping the crushed pretzels back into the bowl before he got the crumbs everywhere. And here he was, thinking that he had even the slightest bit of competition with Eren! 

There were so many things _wrong_ with that approach, Jean didn't even know where to begin. "You don't even _like_ McDonald's!" Jean said in between laughter, his mind still trying to picture how exactly things went down.

"I _know_." Marco said, not even a chuckle, but the look on his face said it all. It must have been so hilariously embarrassing for him to have to have dealt with Eren like that. In a way, Jean felt kind of superior. Sure he'd fucked everything up and made Marco uncomfortable but, at _least_ he didn't suggest that Marco skip school as a lousy date.

As the moment passed, and Jean's laughter subsided, he straightened himself out again and took a deep breath, "Yeah? An' how'd you break it to him that you weren't skipping school for some shitty burgers?" 

"Oh, you know," Marco said, yawning, "Gently." The word itself made Jean remember how Marco had so sweetly tried to console him after the horrible fiasco that was his confession, and he hated it. 

There was nothing more to say, but as their conversation fell and the T.V.'s volume had taken over as the dominant noise in the room, Jean felt rather awkward. Had Marco meant anything by what he said? Or was he just overthinking things?

"Y'know," Jean started casually, reaching into the bowl for more pretzels, "My family's been calling n' texting me so much I muted my phone. Almost didn't catch your text."

"Hmh? What for?" Marco asked, his mouth preoccupied by pretzels as well. 

Jean hadn't told anyone about his family issues before, simply because he was trying all too hard to forget about everything that had happened in February to begin with. But Jean didn't want to keep Marco out of his personal business forever, and now was as good a time as ever to change that.

He swallowed again and washed the pretzels down again with his soda, "...Probably because now they all know I'm gay. Y'know I even got a letter a few weeks about it from my Nana?" He was trying his best to sound like he wasn't whining, or maybe like it didn't bother him at all. 

In all honesty, Jean didn't really know how he wanted to sound or how he wanted Marco to react. His story was far less funny. "Oh.... Are you okay?" Marco asked, the caution in his voice equally matching how Jean felt. 

"Well yeah, I just don't wanna deal with them. At least they're not like, forcing us to visit or anything this year." Jean tried to sound relieved, but he could tell Marco was still looking at him; expecting something.

"Hitch is, fucking annoying, as always." Jean continued with a sneer, his nerves getting ticked as he thought more about what had happened not even an hour ago. "And my mom wasn't helping, 'cause she was too worried ab--... Dinner. Dinner, er, lunch, whatever tomorrow." 

Jean may have only just caught himself there but, Marco noticed, "Why, what's wrong?" God damn it all, Jean wished Marco would just ignore things sometimes. 

"Ehhhn, _y'know_." Jean waved his free hand around for emphasis, refusing to look over towards Marco. 

There was silence for a moment, and Jean assumed that maybe Marco was just too tired to bother. But when was Jean ever _that_ lucky?

"...No? What'd you bleed all over the chicken?" Marco obviously didn't believe his own words, and Jean couldn't blame him for being curious.

"No! Just, uhg, the, the _baster_ is missing. An' she was looking everywhere for it and, y'know, no one knew where it went or anything. So, she's gotta go buy a new one." Jean explained quickly, chewing on the insides of his cheeks some more to keep his shame from showing.

All Jean could do was pray to God that Marco didn't ask what happened to the baster, because Jean really, really couldn't come up with a lie, make it convincing, and hide the look on his face all at once. 

He couldn't even look at Marco when he thought about it, it just felt wrong. Jean reached over to grab a fist full of pretzels to keep his mouth full with, but was startled when he felt the warm touch of Marco's hand also reaching into the bowl.

Jean jerked his hand away, tipping the bowl right over the couch and onto the floor. "Oh, shit!" Jean gasped, embarrassment consuming him. 

Marco's eyebrows were furrowed, but he said nothing as he set his soda can down before getting onto the floor to quickly shove the pretzels back into the bowl.

"Awwh, Marco, wh-what're you doing!? Those were on the floor!" Jean protested, disappointed that what few pretzels hadn't tipped out of the bowl were now tainted with filthy floor pretzels. 

"What? It's _my_ floor, I don't care." Marco defended himself as he settled on the floor, leaning back on the couch. 

Jean pouted, but was glad that Marco didn't hassle him over knocking the bowl over. "What'm I gonna eat then?" He wasn't really hungry but, still. Mindlessly eating salty snacks was the perfect T.V. watching pass time. 

"You can go get more...." Marco mumbled, sticking pretzels into his mouth as if they really hadn't been on the floor. Oh well. Five second rule, right? "You sure you're okay?" 

_Fuck_. This is technically what Jean wanted, having Marco to pour his complaints into, but what if he was catching onto the truth? What if he was realizing what Jean had done with the missing turkey baster!? What was Jean supposed to do _then_?

After waiting long enough for a response, Marco leaned his head back to look at Jean, "Have you talked to them? Your family I mean, since they're bothering you. They didn't even care enough to call last year when you got drunk, so can't your mom tell them to stop or something?"

Jean hated feeling like he was being forced to look at Marco, like he was trapped. But he knew that wasn't really what was going on. Marco could see past the casually annoyed attitude that Jean had, he knew that the whole thing upset him more than he made obvious.

"No, I haven't.... I'm just, ignoring them. I thought they'd stop by now-- I mean, they're not doing it as much but, I can't just tell my mom to make them stop. Then she's gonna try and sit me down and talk to me about it or something." Jean explained with a sigh, looking down at his thumb as he picked at the nail.

"Right, I guess you really can't do much. You, you know you can talk to me about this stuff right? It's been like a month, you've gotta vent to _someone_...." Marco said after a while, sitting back up right and continuing to flip through channels. 

If only it were that easy. The story of Jean's life: Just talk to people. Everyone gave that advice, but did they ever follow it themselves? No! It made Jean wonder what kinds of things Marco had to deal with, considering he seemed so deadset on keeping some things secret.

"Uh... Marco...." Jean said a little too quietly. He cleared his throat before he continued to fix that, "Does umh, does _your_ family know?" He didn't mention the actual word "gay", but he didn't have to.

It took a moment for Marco to say anything, and Jean wasn't sure if that was just hesitation, or tiredness making him a little slow. "Yeah." 

To most people, it might've sounded like a simple, casual response. Jean definitely wasn't most people, and he could hear the change in Marco's voice, the tenseness of it. Marco probably only answered Jean to appease him, not because he was comfortable acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Jean certainly wasn't thinking of following Eren's advice to a T, but he was curious, and this wasn't something that Jean wanted to leave for him to wonder about over other, more important things.

"Oh... and uh, how'd they take it? I mean, you're not getting calls from all your aunts, an' uncles an' third cousins or anything, right?" Jean continued carefully and quietly, knowing that on the off chance that Marco's mom decided to take a break from cleaning, she wouldn't catch the conversation.

"Fine I guess, I don't know." Marco went to drink more soda, but the can was empty, and he reached back to set it down on the side table. He looked disappointed, but whether that was because the fact he downed his caffeine supply too fast, or because Jean was bothering him, was a mystery.

"What d'you mean you don't know? Like--" Jean wasn't even really sure where he wanted to go with his sentence, but Marco interrupted him anyway, "I, I _don't know_ , okay, I wasn't there. Ymir told them for me, okay? And nothing happened. Everything's fine, it's- it's fine. Okay?"

Jean's eyes narrowed as he shook his head gently, completely baffled. "Wh-... _what_? Why? What the hell's her problem?" Jean was legitimately upset and offended on Marco's behalf. For all Marco praised and admired his sister, she never seemed to treat him with the same respect.

"Keep you voice down," Marco sighed exasperatedly, "And, I don't know okay she just, she said I didn't have any reason to keep it a secret, y'know, since it's not like she got in trouble when she came out or whatever."

Was Jean supposed to be angry, understanding, or gently sympathetic? Because he was conflicted and going between that nice array of emotions as he tried to figure out what to say. 

Ymir outs Marco behind his back, and everything is fine. But, God forbid, Jean ask Marco outright about him being gay. He understood family was different from friendship but, honestly, Jean could only assume that there was more to the story than Marco was letting on.

And in Jean's stunned silence, Marco clearly noticed how Jean was reacting and took the opportunity to break the silence before Jean went and imploded on himself. "Don't make a huge deal out of it Jean, it's, it's fine okay?"

"My parents don't even like, supervise me as much anymore." Marco continued, turning to look at Jean, a twitch of a smile on his face. "Like, on Valentine's Day? They just, _left_ , it's like they think because they don't have to worry about me and girls that nothing's ever going to happen."

"Which it still isn't." Marco added quickly, the smile on his face falling. He said that, yet he still had sex with Mikasa that one time. Even if it was just once, clearly, Marco's parents had every reason to suspect.

Although what Marco said didn't make much sense, all things considered. "But... I'm a guy." Jean pointed out, the wheels in his brain furiously turning to try to figure out how Marco, being gay, would be left alone with another boy on Valentine's Day of all days.

"Well _yeah_ , but they know we're not gonna do anything. And I haven't told them about you either so...." Marco trailed off, the sound of him crunching down on pretzels following soon after. 

Jean didn't know what to think. He understood that, if Marco had to talk to his family about what Jean had done, the things he'd said, then it would be fine. Marco was in the right to do that if he had to, because what secrets did Jean need to keep at this point?

"They don't know that... that we're not just friends?" Jean asked as quietly as he could while still being understood. He could feel the hairs all over his body stand up the moment he said it, a clear sign of how nervous he was. 

Marco was a nice guy. That was a fact. But he still had standards, lines he put out just like anyone else, and Jean knew that he was pushing it. He'd already done a horrible thing by practically accusing Marco of being gay. 

Even over a month later, it had to be fresh in Marco's mind, even if he wasn't necessarily holding a grudge against Jean. But Jean was never good at knowing when to stop talking when his curiosity got the best of him.

"We _are_ just friends." Marco said it matter-of-factly, equally as quiet as Jean had been. 

"You know what I mean." Jean breathed out, a pang in his chest as he tried to keep his voice even. He didn't think something like that would still hurt like a knife, but it had. And no, Jean didn't have the right to feel that way, but he did. 

Marco brought his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he breathed out through his nose. Did he not know what to say? Or maybe he just knew that nothing he said would be helpful to either of them, and certainly not something to make Jean happy.

"...Just because I like you doesn't mean I wanna... you know." Marco mumbled before resting his chin down on his knees. "Jean I just, you don't get it, okay? You know what I just, I don't know how to do all of that stuff." 

"I can't even handle the _idea_ of being someone's boyfriend," Marco almost sounded spiteful, as if he were capable of such a thing. "Everything that comes with it, the, the dates, and holidays, and the ah, uh, gifts and... other stuff? You know?"

Jean couldn't take his gaze away from what little of Marco's face he could see. But he was doing everything in his power to shut up, shut up, just _shut up_ for once and try to let Marco talk, so that maybe he could understand better. 

"I don't wanna be responsible for making anyone upset just because of that, it's not like I can just, _google_ the answer to every problem. I can't give anyone all that stuff, and make it, special all the time."

"And Jean it's not just _you_ , because that's what everyone wants." As always, Marco just had to insist that Jean wasn't a problem. 

Jean hadn't really thought about dating in that way, but he couldn't deny that Marco had a point far past personal preference. When Jean imagined what it'd be like to date Marco it just seemed like they'd be closer physically maybe. Dates and holidays, making things more special than they were, never seemed like they were part of the big picture. 

But he also knew that, yeah, dating pretty much involved all of that. He did want those things, but he didn't think he needed them, not from Marco. After all, they were so close already, and Marco did tend to spoil him on occasion when he could, if he felt like Jean deserved it. 

More than anything though, Jean hated feeling like Marco was trying to justify himself rather than explain how he felt, and Jean didn't want to leave him feeling like that. "Alright, I, I get it.... So then, I ah, wouldn't be getting any uhhmh, super fancy shit for my birthday if we were going out?" Jean tried to lay down the joke to cut through some of the tension, although his voice was still low and shakey.

"Wh...?" Marco lifted his head and turned it slightly, the intensity of his stare only just starting to dissipate as he realized what Jean was doing. 

"Hey, I always give you special stuff for your birthday." Marco insisted, a small smile forming on his face that was so genuine and sweet, it was obvious to see it all over his face. 

The way his eyes seemed to soften, and his face relaxed. He just had a kind of relief in his voice that Jean only knew was because he'd made Marco feel truly better after having been so invasive. His smile alone was the most authentic forgiveness Jean could hope for.

"What're you getting me this year then?" Jean asked, leading the conversation, and himself, back to a better atmosphere. 

"Maybe nothing," Marco answered smugly, picking the remote back up and looking back at the T.V., "I didn't forget about Christmas you know. _Maybe_ I didn't get you anything."

"Uh huh, I remember. How many girls- er, guys have you married in Story of Seasons? All of them?" Jean teased, although he kept the tone to a minimum.

"Oh," Marco began, something new and somewhat, educational, in his tone, "I don't romance the guys. You can only do that if you play as the girl character, and I'm not a girl so...."

"But you're-- Then why are you playing those games at all?" Jean asked, although he didn't know what else the game offered. He knew there was farming and marriage. A wild combo.

"The girls are still cute, that's why." Marco answered quietly, his face turning pink as he pulled his hand up to cover the left side of his face from Jean's view. At the very least Jean could relate to such a simple answer. 

A few months ago Jean might make a joke about how he was a cute boy, but it wasn't a safe thing to do now. Maybe things would get back to a semblance of normal someday though, and he wouldn't have to second guess jokes like that. 

"So what _are_ you getting me for my birthday?" Jean repeated, relieved as he felt his pulse slow and the awkwardness of before fade. 

Marco breathed out of his nose exaggeratedly, shrugging, "Keep asking and I'll return it--" 

" _It_!? So it's not a puppy then?" Jean interrupted with an even more exaggerated whine.

The interruption earned him some side-eye from Marco, "No, how about manners?" He shot back, a sly look in his eyes. Jean loved that Marco could do so well at making things feel normal even after something had gone even slightly wrong between them.

Jean had missed this, and he only just realized how much it just wasn't happening since he confessed. If they'd both been walking on eggshells with each other the entire time, Jean was glad that today especially was a sure sign of that changing.

Later he'd have to find some way to apologize to Marco for questioning him at such a spur of the moment, and for pushing when he knew damn well that Marco would rather keep things to himself. 

But Jean could see the smile on Marco's face, as tired as he may have been, so later would be just fine for the both of them.

* * *

Jean absolutely hated having to go back to school the day after a holiday. Why was there a long weekend for Thanksgiving, but not Easter? Easter was _basically_ the same thing as Christmas, it just made less money.

Not that Easter was the kind of holiday Jean wanted to linger on, considering how it was usually so quiet. The most decorating they even did was put up some gel decals on the windows. Cute little white rabbits and pastel eggs.

But that wasn't the point. It was a _food_ holiday, alright? He'd much rather lounge at home stuffing his face with reheated mashed potatoes and chicken smothered in gravy. 

No thinking, no math, no English bullshit with grammatical rules he couldn't care to learn if his life depended on it, and especially no biology. And then there was the glaring problem of school lunch, which like any normal human being who'd at least licked _cardboard_ would know was trash.

Why not just take the leftovers to school for lunch? Because cold leftovers weren't as good as hot leftovers, alright? Couldn't Jean treat himself every once in a while?

It didn't help that Hitch had already taken some for herself, and Jean could only picture her sneaking off with all the good meat to shower whatever awful friends she had in college in delicious home cooked food they probably hadn't had in months. 

Of course, his teachers couldn't understand these things, or maybe they did and wanted to torture him, who knows? But they just piled the homework on like it was nothing, just like they had the Friday before Easter. Which what Jean hadn't finished over the weekend, he'd sloppily powered through at every chance he had during classes all day.

Jean's bigger mistake though had to be choosing to do his homework in the dining room today, where his eyes and thoughts just wandered towards the kitchen. Sometimes, like today, Jean could discipline himself in order to get work done.

Today, his "discipline", was no leftover Easter lunch until he'd gotten done with at least 3 assignments. Of course, being directly near the kitchen seemed like the perfect idea! The hungrier he got, the more work he'd get done, right?

It sounded like a good idea in his head, and in a way it _was_ working. Except when he occasionally wrote down food items as opposed to, well, what he was supposed to be doing. It was frustrating to say the least.

Thankfully, Jean was saved at least a short break from his torment as he heard the front door open. It was far too early for Hitch to slither back into the house, and so he knew it was either a burglar that knew how to look for spare keys, or his mother. One of the two.

"Hi!" Jean called out, confident that it was the latter. And just as suspected, his mother walked through the kitchen, "Oh, hello! How was school today?" She asked, as she always did after coming home from work, before setting her purse and keys down on the counter.

Jean shrugged and turned back to his geometry homework, "It was boring." It was almost always boring, and on days that it wasn't, it usually wasn't for a good reason. 

His mother nodded, "So I was thinking, how about not having to go to school for your birthday?" Jean's neck might've snapped if he'd turned his head any faster. Not having to suffer in Hell on the one day of the year he got to be entitled?

"Seriously? Did you get the day off?" Jean asked excitedly, wondering if maybe this was one of those years where his mother hadn't gotten him anything in particular for his birthday. 

It sounded like a shitty thing but in reality, it was just because Jean's birthday just fell at a time in the year where they didn't have as much money. By then, his mother had sorted out all the loans she'd taken out for the previous Christmas, creating a budget for the rest of the year.

Generally it meant Jean would get to go do something he really wanted, like a trip to the movies or being able to go shopping at the mall for his own presents. It wasn't such a bad thing when last minute gifts ended up being his choice.

"Well," His mother crossed her arms, "I did take the Friday _after_ off." And just like that Jean's hopes and dreams got shattered. So, no shopping spree. Just a sick day on Thursday when all his friends were at school and he couldn't go anywhere or do anything.

"Oh, Jeany, don't pout like that! Guess who we're going to see next weekend?" His mother asked, the smile on her face growing. She was staring at him expectantly, and Jean realized he was actually supposed to guess.

He had no idea of any plans, but then he thought back a bit and realized what was going on. "Wait, we're visiting Nana? What? But, but why?" Jean asked, confused. There was a sort of knowing panic rising in him, and he just didn't like the idea of visiting his Nana's for the weekend. 

Of course his mother could only smile, "Yes! For your birthday, silly, what else? Easter's over. Don't you want to have a nice little birthday party?" Jean loved birthday parties, although he never really got them anymore since he'd gotten older. 

But if they were visiting his Nana, that meant he probably wouldn't go to school on Friday either. "N-no! I, I have important stuff to do at school next Friday!" Jean quickly stammered, his mind racing to find any excuse to _not_ be dragged away to what he figured was only an intervention masked as a birthday celebration.

His mother looked skeptical, crossing her arms, "Oh?" Jean knew he didn't have much time to think, and it wasn't like there were any state tests to take. 

"Spanish!" Jean blurted, suddenly remembering the Spanish test that was planned for the 8th. His Spanish teacher had insisted it was important, and that they should be studying every day until the day of. The test was announced nearly a month ago, and so of course, Jean had ignored studying entirely.

"I have a really important, big test on that day! Like, final grade and stuff, you know?" Jean tried to explain, hoping that his mother would at least somewhat buy the bullshit. 

Unfortunately, his mother was not that stupid. "Ohhh, I see. Alright. Well, I was hoping we could visit from Friday until Sunday morning, but if we have to leave after you're out of school we can just go and then leave on Sunday night. I guess we'll have to pack some extra clothes for church."

Jean went wide eyed, and a little part of his soul was ready to shrivel and die. "But, my friends! Th-they're gonna do something for my birthday on the weekend! Y'know, like an _actual_ birthday party!"

"They can do it some other time, I'm sure. They'll understand, family comes first." The way his mother said the last part was stern, like a kind of warning. She'd clearly thought that this visit was extremely important for Jean.

"So... so I... 2 days off from school?" Jean muttered, accepting the fact that he was visiting his Nana's no matter what. Maybe his mother couldn't truly force him to go, but he was sure there was a price to pay more frustrating than church waiting for him if he refused. 

"Yes, that's the plan!" She nodded her head once, satisfaction written all over her face. 

Jean had no idea whether or not he was being forced to have a family sit down about him being gay. For all he knew it really was just a well planned out birthday party, maybe something special as his last birthday before he became an adult.

He planned on being difficult about it either way. Jean would go, fine, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And he most certainly wasn't going to miss school on his birthday, no way. Not when it might've been the only chance he'd get to have a real, happy celebration with at least some of his friends.

* * *

Despite all of the odd and unfortunate things that had happened, Jean wasn't all that upset. It wasn't like everything just rolled right off his back, or that his life was normally sunshine and rainbows 24/7. But since he'd let everything out into the open it just made some things seem more annoying.

It also meant more complaining than usual, up and down the internet wherever he could. Venting into the void was so therapeutic, and as any good friends did, the fact that they all validated his feelings. 

Everyone gave their sad little comment about how they wished Jean didn't have to leave for his birthday weekend, and he appreciated it. It made him less upset about it, or rather, it kept him from lingering on it and getting all pissy despite knowing he couldn't change it and didn't know what would _actually_ happen.

Not only that, but his birthday was so close, who _didn't_ want to kiss Jean's ass? Of course most of them weren't as close friends with him to actually get him a gift but, who cares? Any kind of praise was about as good as getting free shit for being _born_. 

Jean never did quite love self-centered capitalist holidays as much as he did when it came to birthdays! They were just so much more personal.

He was admittedly a little anxious about the surprise visit to his Nana's, but he was also excited. Intervention or no, they didn't visit his Nana as often as they used to. She'd already sent Jean a letter, and so he knew she wasn't going to grill him for information. Not in the way his mom did anyway.

All Jean really could do now was wait it out and hope for the best. Or some bullshit like that, whatever, that's the kind of thing he kept hearing. Considering the seemingly okay lives everyone else seemed to live, he could buy it.

Jean was so petty, stubborn, and unforgiving about these things. It was a miracle he could roll over and shut up about some things that annoyed him if enough people threw sweet words his way to please him.

Usually even his closest friends would tell him to knock it off if he complained too much, if he was being _too_ petty. Keeping him in check when he was being more immature than acceptable, which was a nice way for Jean to not embarrass himself too much.

Armin was usually quicker to shut shit like that down, but even he had a soft edge when it came to birthdays. Or, maybe he was just too tired of other bullshit to hassle Jean about his. Who knows?

He was surprised and maybe even a little suspicious when Armin told him that he could get his birthday present early. A _whole week_ early. That was just downright abnormal, considering Armin usually ended up being a little late with gifts, not the other way around.

At least the reason why was always good; Armin liked to make gifts himself, or if he couldn't, save up what money he did have. He could have just gotten a job for extra money, but he kept saying it would just interfere with his schoolwork.

Jean was sure that in reality, Armin was just lazy and was putting off a job just like pretty much everyone else who was old enough to get one part-time. 

He never really minded the lack of store-bought gifts though. As someone who used to make terrible hand-made gifts for everyone, he could appreciate the effort. Even if the end result was only just okay. Armin flunked out of wood-shop in middle school for a _reason_.

Honestly, Jean just wanted to know what the hell it was Armin could have made so fast for it to be ready a week ahead of time. Maybe Armin had tried getting back into making stuff out of wood and he just, completely ruined it. 

If he was going to try apologizing by just handing Jean some cash instead that'd be great. Money was the best consolation prize, and that way no one had to worry about a disappointing present.

Jean shouldn't have been thinking so much about it while making the quick walk to Armin's house, because getting his hopes up was never a good idea. This could all be a ruse to play a prank on him, or try to talk him into helping him with a project for something. 

He tried not to think about it too much when he walked up the steps to the house, ringing the doorbell twice just to be make sure Armin heard it. What he didn't expect when the front door opened was to see Mikasa standing there, hair soaking wet for God knows why.

Jean was stunned, taken aback even, leaning back slightly to check the numbers nailed to the front of the house to check he'd walked to the right one. Mikasa's house was definitely nowhere near where Jean had walked to, but in the moment it seemed possible that he'd wandered an extra few miles in the other direction.

Unfazed by Jean's behavior, Mikasa turned her head, "He's here!" There was some muffled yelling from inside the house that Jean could only assume was Armin, and Mikasa stepped back a little to open the door more, "It's Jean-- Who'd you think it was?" 

Clearly, this was a gesture meant to invite Jean into the house, but his brain hit a stop when he wondered for two seconds if Mikasa was the early present. Jean knew deserved to be shot for even imagining that, in any kind of scenario, joke or not. 

Jean tried not to stare at Mikasa's head as he pulled himself back to the here and now, stepping into the house quickly. What was he supposed to say, or wonder, even? Did she just, _decide_ to take a shower at Armin's house or something? Was the water pressure at her house weak?

He slid his shoes off, but made sure to keep his socks on. Armin's house was covered in carpet that just couldn't stay clean. They felt just fine and yet, walking barefoot around the living room for more than a few hours created black feet for anyone and everyone. It was the price of owning carpets older than him, maybe.

Armin hurried out of the kitchen, the hair on the top of his head all flattened down and pulled back by a head band. Jean looked between Mikasa and Armin for a moment, "Am I _missing_ something here?" Was it just weird hair day or what?

Then Jean's eyes noticed Armin's hands, which were wet and splotched with black, and the stars fucking aligned in Jean's head as he realized what the hell was going on. 

"Dyed my hair again." Mikasa said with a small smile, although Armin's expression seemed so absolutely exhausted. Jean would have asked what color but... her hair didn't look any different. 

Armin sighed and looked down at his hands a few times, "The gloves didn't work." Jean remembered the phase he went through back when he first got into highschool, where he wanted to color his hair something, _anything_ different. His mother shut that dream down real quick, God bless her.

"It's uh, 'Soft Mahogany'. You just can't tell when it's wet." Mikasa explained, expertly reading how lost Jean was. What kind of color was that, anyway? Wasn't mahogany like, wood? So, brown? Her hair didn't look brown at all, it was quite clearly black.

Jean could never forget the one time Mikasa asked Jean if he liked her new hair color. It would have been fine except Jean flubbed and tried to say he had no idea she changed it, but instead he went with "I have no idea who you are". Middle school was a stressful time, okay?

"Looks great!" Jean forced himself to say, unsure of what else was fitting. Despite growing up with the majority of his family being made up of women, he had no idea how to compliment them on the finer touches. 

Armin wiped his hands off on his pants, "A few shades lighter and she can become a m--" Whatever he'd been planning to say, Mikasa interrupted him, "Didn't you dye your hair Butternut once?" 

Jean snorted at that, "What? There's a hair color called _butternut_?" Jean knew what a butternut squash looked like, and he wasn't sure which color would be more hilarious on Armin; The inside of the squash, or the outside?

Pulling the headband forward and off his head, Armin pouted a little, "It was called Cream Soda, and it looked fine." Jean legitimately could not remember Armin's hair ever looking different. He'd have to demand pictures later.

"Why didn't you just uh, get Eren to do it?" Jean asked it with innocent and genuine curiosity, not expecting the silence afterwards. What was their problem? Did Eren die or something and Jean just didn't hear about it?

Mikasa was the one to do the gracious thing and break the silence, "You know Armin's trimming my hair too, and Eren's not very good at that." 

"Eren has the finesse of a mutilated porpoise, he couldn't trim hair evenly to save his life. I should've never gotten him into knitting." Armin added on, a little edge to his voice that was on the off side of joking. 

There was only one solution in Jean's mind, "Jeez, Armin.... Butternut more like, _bitter_ nut." 

Silence. 

"It sounded way better in my head." Jean mumbled, wishing he'd thought a bit longer for a better pun. A butter pun, if you will. 

"Does anyone laugh at your jokes who _isn't_ Marco?" Armin asked, his mood seeming to be just fine. Bad pun or no, Jean clearly did the right thing!

Mikasa walked past Armin and poked his shoulder as she passed, "Cut it out. Now come on, you need to cut my hair before it dries out too much." Armin immediately turned to follow her without complaint.

Despite being fairly confused as to what any of this had to do with getting his birthday present early, Jean followed them. There was a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a bunch of towels underneath, drips of hair dye on them which would undoubtedly leave permanent stains. 

Jean pulled out a chair from under the table and plopped himself down on it, earning a nice view of the process. He knew Mikasa changed her hair color quite a bit, if you could call a dozen different shades of black "colors". But he'd never actually seen the immediate process afterwards.

Armin looked like he knew what he was doing, and Jean wondered if maybe Armin trimmed his own hair. "Why not just go to Super Cuts? They're professional." Jean asked, and as soon as he said it he realized how insulting it must have sounded to Armin.

Before he could think of a way to catch himself and apologize, Mikasa answered, "That's extra money on top of the hair dye, and who wants strangers touching their hair? And this way I can keep the extra hair dye for my conditioner." 

Forget about why anyone would need to put hair dye in their conditioner, Jean somewhat sank in his chair, pouting a bit. He liked going to the hair salon! Then again, Jean liked most things that involved spending money on him. 

"Right.... So, is my early present a free hair cut?" Jean asked, half-joking. It wasn't exactly the kind of hand-made gift Jean was thinking of but it technically was a present of some sort, right?

Armin laughed, pulling the hair scissors away from Mikasa's head for a moment, "What!? No, of course not! It just, it took a while to get this all done because she just has so much, _hair_." Armin moved his free hand up and down, emphasizing the length of Mikasa's hair.

"Oh is that why you came over; early gift giving? Sorry, I didn't bring anything." Mikasa asked.

Jean scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, shrugging despite the fact that Mikasa couldn't see it. He hadn't even gotten a genuine gift for Mikasa's birthday in years, not since he stopped making hand-made gifts and had less money to get his friends things. 

Now he just asked someone else what she wanted and pitched in to help buy it. Sometimes he'd get a card, maybe bake some brownies.

Armin's eyebrows furrowed, "What? No, like, he's not leaving for two weeks! He's leaving for two _days_ , and that's next week!" He sounded confused, unimpressed even. Apparently Mikasa didn't pay enough attention to Jean's bitching. A wise decision.

"Yeah-- I knew that. Why the early present?" Mikasa was good at not taking Armin's occasional passively rude remarks. 

If anyone deserved a medal it was her for having to put up with both Armin and Eren. Jean could barely understand how most people could, but Mikasa was glued to them. It was like Eren and Armin were having fun on a seesaw and Mikasa was just hanging on in the middle for the ride as the other two threw the damn thing out of balance for an eternity. 

Or at least that's how Jean saw it. He never really _did_ understand how three people on such opposite ends of the personality spectrum could be so close. Especially after puberty. Jean was convinced that Eren was going to try getting in Mikasa's pants once he realized she had boobs. But, it never happened.

"It's not important right now just, stay still!" Armin stammered, his nostrils twitching slightly in annoyance. His hastiness to drop the subject made Jean even more suspicious about what this supposed present was, but he kept his mouth shut. 

Jean wondered if Eren had gotten his present early too, but he doubted it and didn't care enough to ask. After all, Armin didn't seem like he was even on gift giving terms with Eren anymore. But what did he know? Maybe he was just tired of Eren's attempts at getting in his pants, and was perfectly fine with the traditional, obligatory gift giving that came with regular friendship. 

Eren would be lucky if Armin showed up to his birthday party at this point. Knowing Eren, he'd probably make a wish on his cake and say it was something at least slightly related to dating or kissing Armin.

As Armin finished up trimming Mikasa's hair, he grabbed a little comb off the kitchen counter and started combing her hair. He looked satisfied with the end result, squinting occasionally to look at certain areas of the hair. For a second Jean thought Armin might even take out a ruler, just to make sure the edges were perfectly even.

"Done." Armin announced, taking a step to the side and putting down both the scissors and the comb. 

Mikasa got up from the chair and turned her head, and she looked uncomfortable by what she saw. "There's hair all over my shirt." Armin only blinked as he looked at Mikasa, not giving her any vocal response. 

"Well," Jean started awkwardly, "I think you like nice!" Mikasa looked towards him and smiled, "Thanks." Was that the smile she used to...? _No_ , no no no, Jean couldn't think those things.

"Yeah, thanks." Armin echoed, happiness in his voice contrary to the lack of a cute smile. 

"I'm gonna go blow dry my hair." Mikasa said as she walked out of the room, leaving Jean very expectant and ready for his gift, which Armin might as well have been teasing for the past half hour. 

"You own a hair dryer?" Jean asked, his face twisting in confusion. Armin breathed out his nose a little as he turned towards the sink, "No, she brought her own."

"Why didn't'ya just do it at her place then?" Jean asked yet again, still unsure as to why Mikasa not only felt the need to dye her hair, but have Armin do it as opposed to someone who actually knew what they were doing.

"Because I already invited you over? And would you really have waited or let me reschedule after I already told you I had your present?" Armin explained as he looked over his shoulder a little so his voice could carry over the sound of the sink.

"That... yeah." Jean agreed with a sigh.

Armin turned the sink off and bent down on the floor, carefully collecting the towels. He folded them into each other to ensure no hair or dye got anywhere. 

Jean didn't see much of the point in being so careful to tidy up the house; Armin's grandfather was a forgiving person from what he saw. So long as Armin got decent grades and didn't pick fights, he seemed to never have any trouble at home. 

That isn't to say that Armin never got grounded or anything. Any time he got detention it was also an instant grounding, which surprisingly meant Armin was grounded more than Jean was. Then again most kids were, and just had a far less strict set of rules to follow when being grounded.

Armin never really did learn when to shut up and let the teachers do their jobs, even if said teachers were relatively shit at it. Jean wished he had the energy to question authority so simply, and quite honestly he used to be that sort of way. Low self esteem with a face like his shot down any notion of being truly rebellious though.

"C'mon, I'm gonna go get your, _ahem_ , present now." Armin announced as he lifted the giant wad of towels off the floor and towards the closet with the washer/dryer combo inside. 

Jean slid out of his chair and pushed it back under the table where it belonged, then waited for Armin to finish stuffing the towels into the washer before following him out of the kitchen.

He followed Armin into his bedroom, which seemed to make sense enough. The kitchen certainly didn't make sense as a place to keep a present, unless it was a cake. 

God, Jean would kill for a really nice, gigantic, butter yellow cake with homemade chocolate frosting. That's what he was craving for the moment anyway. In a few hours he'd probably prefer strawberry with cream cheese frosting instead.

"Is it a puppy?" Jean asked jokingly as his eyes passed over everything in the room looking for anything that might be a present for him. 

"Auuh, it's something like that." Armin said, making Jean even more suspicious and nervous. "Close your eyes." Armin ordered, and Jean reluctantly sat down on the bed and obeyed.

There was the sound of rummaging from behind him on the other side of the room, and Jean started to imagine all kinds of awful things. Maybe the knowledge of his fruit fucking fancies had made their way past Marco's lips, and Armin had a hand blown glass dildo for him. Wow! Now that was an image.

"Okay, now don't get too upset but just, open your eyes." Armin said, his voice getting louder as he walked around the bed again. 

Jean leaned his head back instinctively before opening his eyes, although he leaned forward and squinted when he realized that he couldn't exactly tell what he was looking at. 

It was a gray _blob_ , but as soon as it came into focus and light started to make it look not like a heaping pile of crap, Jean leaned back again. "Uh...." It was a clay statue, or maybe it wasn't clay, but that's what Jean assumed it was. His skills with the arts ended after painting.

Armin held it up higher, a proud little smile on his face, "It's a rabbit!" Jean could see that, kind of, now that Armin had clarified for him. 

"Uh huh, but, why does it have a hole on top of it?" Jean reached forward to touch said hole, but Armin only pulled the rabbit backwards, "For holding things, you know like, a toothbrush, or one of those thin candles. It's useful!" 

Jean was silent, mostly because he was sort of disappointed and confused. Armin was a practical person but this, this was a little odd. Jean liked rabbits, sure, but why choose a rabbit over all the other animals that he liked?

Sensing the disappointment, Armin sighed and set the rabbit down on the bed next to Jean, "I know it doesn't look great, but that's because it's not painted or glazed yet, and I didn't know how to color it. I thought just asking you would be too obvious so, why not just show you it and make sure you know exactly how you want it to look?"

Jean chewed on the inside of his mouth, picking up the rabbit to look it over. The more he looked at it the less awful it seemed. If Armin really planned to paint it, it'd make sense that the base product didn't look very distinguished on its own. 

There were a few little touches that Jean could appreciate and at least sort of tell that work was put into. Whatever Armin used to make it look like the rabbit actually had some kind of fur rather than being a completely smooth ball of, well, clay, was nice. 

"...Blue." Jean said finally, handing it back to Armin, who looked surprised at the choice. Nonetheless, he took the rabbit and walked back around the bed with it.

"Why a rabbit?" Jean added, scooting back and lounging on the bed. Jean was glad to not be assaulted by the normal reek of that ridiculous non artificial dye no nonsense whatever laundry detergent that always lingered on Armin's sheets. 

It was like sunscreen to Jean, a smell that while he couldn't immediately pick up, annoyed him to no end. Especially considering that the stuff Armin liked to use, for all he defended it, left such a hospital like stench afterwards. One of the few reason why Jean's sleepovers were rarely at Armin's house.

"Uhh," Armin began somewhat sheepishly, "All of the other animals you like are hard to make? Especially dogs." He defended himself, safely returning the rabbit to the insides of a small bag. 

Jean tilted his head to the side in place of a shrug, "Eh. Could'a just made a little pig or something." Generic cute pigs seemed simple enough in his mind.

"I needed more of a challenge than _that_." Armin scoffed jokingly, as if he would actually push himself when it came to gift making. Jean could respect that though. Any kind of gift or hobby that stressed you out probably just wasn't meant for you, or worth it even for the person receiving the gift. Hence part of the reason Jean didn't make handmade gifts anymore.

"Hey," Mikasa said from the doorway. She was patting her now dry hair down with one hand and stuffing a blow dryer into the purse that was over her shoulder. "Does my hair look okay? You can tell the difference now right?" She asked, still fussing around with the last remaining loose strands of hair.

Jean could actually see a kind of difference now. Something about her hair seemed warmer in a way, but he couldn't figure out exactly why. Perhaps she did use brown hair dye, although Jean was certain it still looked black.

"Y-yeah!" Jean said quickly as he noticed his time frame for acknowledging her was running out. He didn't want to seem rude or end up offending her somehow. Not that someone like Mikasa should have any reason to get upset over Jean's opinion.

"I've gotta go--" Mikasa started, doing a double take as she turned to leave, "Are either of you going to Eren's tomorrow?" 

"No." Jean answered almost immediately, somewhat minding the attitude in his voice. 

Any ounce of annoyance that was left out of Jean's voice seemed to be clear on Armin's face. Whether that was supposed to be read as an "of course" or "of course not", Jean wasn't completely sure. But no one commented on it, and Mikasa didn't even look like she noticed. 

"Okay... I still think you should come, I don't think anyone's really going." Mikasa said it while looking at Armin, despite the fact that he hadn't said a thing about not going.

"See you tomorrow?" Armin asked, seemingly giving in to the suggestion. Mikasa gave a silent little nod before turning and leaving in a hurry again.

The silence in the room didn't last long, and Armin crossed his arms as he looked down at Jean, "Go ahead and ask already."

Jean blinked in confusion, but Armin only breathed out his slightly twitching nostrils. He walked towards the bedroom door and closed it gently, and turned around to look at Jean. "I mean ask me about Eren. That's all _anyone_ wants to talk to me about anymore."

"Oh...." Jean said quietly. He wasn't exactly sure what Armin was so miffed about. Sure, Jean was a bit curious, but he wasn't exactly dying to ask Armin about his problems with Eren when it wasn't even his business. It only meant one thing; Armin was the one who wanted to talk about it.

"Everyone thinks he's just, the most important thing in my life or something!" Armin huffed, crossing his arms as he stared down at the floor.

"Well, he is-- _was_ kinda your best friend?" Jean pointed out, wondering how hurt Armin truly was by the situation. 

Armin lifted his head up and let his arms relax to their natural position, "And? It's his fault; his problem. I wish he'd stop making me feel so... so guilty all the time." 

Jean settled back in Armin's bed again, but still kept himself upright, intent on listening to every word. "Guilty? For what, not wanting to, to date him?" Jean barely let himself hesitate there. He knew he wasn't being the best friend to Armin recently, ignoring the problem of Eren simply because Armin wasn't talking about it much.

"Because I--!" Armin raised his hand only to bring it back down in frustration, "I, let people know how he treated me, and it made everyone think that he just doesn't care about anyone but himself."

It was true. Eren trying to push himself onto Armin had only done horrors for his regular social life. People tended to lean towards Armin's "side", and forget about getting dates with people; Eren could barely flirt with anyone without getting the cold shoulder.

Jean liked to rejoice in it a little bit, but he understood what Armin meant. "And, he's not like that?" There was something odd between Eren and Armin that Jean still didn't care to understand. Jean didn't know exactly why Eren was so insistent on throwing away a perfectly good friendship in the way he did, but he also had a feeling that Eren would only ever do it for Armin.

"It's not my problem anymore." Armin sighed, rolling his eyes a bit as he started to walk slowly across the room. How Armin could pretend it was so easy to cut loose someone he'd known his whole life was spectacular to Jean.

"What's Mikasa think?" Jean asked, not forgetting for a second that the poor girl was definitely still hanging on for the hellish ride. 

"You know," Armin said, stopping in front of his closet. "Trying to get Eren to apologize, trying to get me to forgive him...." Jean could only imagine in horror, the kind of awful damage control she had to do. To Eren and Armin it might've seemed like she was picking a side just by trying to get them to make up.

Jean cursed himself inwardly for what he was about to do, but reluctantly pulled his most sincere tone on he could come up with, "Eren seemed pretty uh, sorry about things, last time I talked to him." 

He wasn't vouching for Eren! Jean was just trying to scope out the situation, shed some light on things. Maybe figure out what the fuck Eren meant with some of the weird shit he said, who knows?

"What, you talked to him, and you didn't kill each other? About what?" Armin asked. While normally he knew better it was clear that for all his intuition, he couldn't guess _everything_ within approximately reliable accuracy. 

" _Hey_ , I'll dig my own grave before I shake hands and kiss Eren's ass, alright?" Jean defended himself. 

Armin's smile fell, and Jean wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not that Armin was too preoccupied with his own issues to try figuring out what exactly Jean and Eren could have needed from each other, in any situation. 

He prayed to God that Armin didn't assume Jean let Eren bang him or something as a mutual "our love lives suck" circle jerk of pity.

"And I don't care how sorry he is," Armin continued, the anger in his voice restrained but clear. "He doesn't even know why he's sorry."

That was the clincher, wasn't it? An apology was only worth as much as the person giving it understanding why it was necessary in the first place. Otherwise it didn't mean shit. Not to Jean anyway, and certainly not to Armin.

"He says he's _sorry_ , because I'm upset, but he doesn't even know what he _did_!" Armin sounded more hurt and offended rather than purely angry, but that made sense.

Not wanting Armin to get too stressed over something he couldn't change, Jean tried his best to offer positive advice. Not that, tough love realism bullshit. "Now, have you considered," Jean leaned forward, clasping his hands together, "That Eren is a dumbass?" 

Armin coughed out a short laugh that almost sounded hollow, but Jean knew it was just because his humor had been unexpected. Armin was probably preparing to yell, or groan, or maybe even cry, but not laugh.

"Yeah, I've already tried the explaining thing. I _wish_ he was just stupid." Armin sat down at the foot of his bed, slouching forward and staring at the door again as if it had done him a disservice of some kind.

Jean let the silence fall upon them, making sure he gave Armin the time to either speak more or gather whatever thoughts he'd clearly been keeping for a while. It must have been so weird, embarrassing even, for Armin to be so on the ball about everything, and completely miss the way Eren felt about him for however long it had been.

He didn't know how exactly Eren let Armin know how he felt, or even for how long things were going on. When shit really hit the fan for any of them in their little trio, it seemed to stay there, and fix itself there between the three of them. Not this time.

Jean sat up completely, but kept his space from Armin intact, "Do you even wanna make up with him?" He knew there was a chance that Armin might not answer, because even now Armin still had a sense of pride in when he felt he was the one in the right. 

For whatever reason he was acting like he didn't need Eren, like he didn't miss him or something. But that just wasn't true, it was impossible. They had been stuck together in their own weird way longer than any other people Jean knew personally, and while they both flocked to Mikasa like she was their mom half the time, they still relied on each other in some way.

"I don't know." Armin breathed out heavily after a while. "I just wish he'd stop, y'know? Stop apologizing, stop trying to make things up to me and just, _listen_ to me."

Armin might not have wanted Eren back in his life after how royally things were screwed up, but need and want were two entirely different things. So the question really was, what did Armin want more? Peace of mind in knowing that he'd taken control of his own life away from someone who clearly didn't care about what he wanted? 

Or, the stability that Eren gave Armin, that kind like nothing and no one else could? Armin was rather unlucky in that way, only having his grandfather as family anywhere near him as a fallback for emotional support. He needed Eren, as a friend of course, but needed him nonetheless.

"You know how he is, he doesn't think I'm right about things." Armin tilted his head, looking at the floor, "It's his way or the high way."

Armin needed Eren, for better or worse. Jean could see that, as awful as it might have been. It wouldn't be such a mess if Eren would just get over himself for five seconds, but maybe they were past that point. 

Jean honestly didn't know what Armin expected as far as response went. He knew that things like, the generic "everything will be fine, don't worry about it" spiel was not only a lie, but a waste. Jean didn't know _shit_ about what Eren's real problem was, and it didn't seem like Armin was willing to discuss things like that now.

"Hey," Jean said, leaning over and giving Armin a hug, even though the position was awkward and Armin in no way could give him a proper hug back. "He's an asshole."

Armin gently leaned to the side to somewhat embrace the hug, "Everyone is." He mumbled back, a touch of humor under the unpleasant tone. 

Jean expected as much of a response. If there was something better for either of them to say, they would have. But it seemed like, for now, the only options for anyone were shitty ones.

* * *

The idea of a birthday week seemed fun right up until Jean realized he still had to do his chores, which always seemed to take longer right around his birthday when all he'd rather do is lounge around. Sure, he'd been promised two free days off of school, but even on those days he knew he'd have to do chores.

Jean was such a huge, lazy procrastinator that he'd let the dishes pile up a bit over the past few days, and his mother definitely was not pleased. She'd be at her book club meeting for a few hours, and Jean knew that if he didn't have the dishes done by then, he was in for a world of trouble. 

He'd already posted online about how he was willing to pay someone all the money in his pocket, $4, if they'd come over and do it for him. It was a serious offer, but of course nobody responded with anything but jokes.

Now Jean was lounging around on the couch though, watching some House Hunters, letting almost all of his time run out. But as the latest episode was ending, Jean begrudgingly pulled out his phone and looked at the time.

"Uuugh, _fuck_." It was already 5, and those dishes were still there. In fact they were probably only getting harder to wash with every passing minute, the food getting harder and more encrusted onto everything.

He chewed on his lip as he fucked around with his phone, checking his Snapchat and feeding his cats on Neko Atsume. God bless Gabriel, the precious little bean. But seriously, when were they coming out with a puppy collecting game, hm? Jean would be fucking set for life.

Suddenly he got the great idea of scrolling through his contacts, and the even _greater_ idea of calling Marco. Why? For procrastination's sake, really. What better way to occupy his time than striking up a nice conversation on the phone?

"Hey!" Jean said gleefully as his call was answered.

"No." Marco said back, surprising Jean. For a moment he though he might've called the wrong number. 

"...What?" Jean asked, trying to figure out if Marco had been talking to someone else or something.

Marco sighed, "You're gonna ask me to help you do your chores! I'm telling you no."

Jean was stunned, both confused and offended. "That... wasn't my idea at all, but now that you _mention it_ \--"

"No!" Marco repeated sternly, so much in fact that Jean thought he might've hung up afterwards. But Marco was too much of a good friend for that, and at the very least he'd have a conversation with Jean. Right?

"Marco? Hello?" No, _wrong_. He hung up. Jean gasped as he pulled his phone down to look at it, and, yup, there it was; the call ended screen. " _Oh my god_." 

He immediately called back, but was even sooner left to voicemail. Jean scoffed, "Marco! You asshole, pick up the phone! ...Please." He wasn't sure if Marco would even _check_ the voicemail, but at least it made Jean feel a little better.

And unexpectedly, barely a couple of minutes later, Marco was calling back. Jean of course answered immediately, "What'd you do that for!? I just wanted to like, talk." There was a sad pout to his voice, but it certainly didn't match up to the facial expression he was making.

"Oh my god, you're so over dramatic.... _I_ thought it was funny." Marco defended himself, and Jean could only imagine the shit eating grin on his fucking face. 

"My birthday's in 4 days and you're mocking my pain. Unbelievable." Jean mumbled, hoping the tone of his voice would make Marco feel at least a _little_ bit bad. 

"Okay, okay, but seriously, I'm not helping you with your nasty dishes." Marco said, and Jean accepted it as a kind of apology.

Jean turned his head around to look towards the kitchen, but couldn't get a good view of the sink. It was probably for the best though. He knew he'd probably die a little on the inside if he had to stare at the pile of crap he had to clean.

"What if I..." Jean started slowly.

" _No_ , stop." Marco repeated, although it was like white noise to Jean once his brain started to formulate a solution.

"What _if_ , I bake you some brownies?" Jean offered, going over in his head which dishes _weren't_ still dirty.

"Cut it out, I said no!" Marco stayed firm, damn him for having self control. 

There was silence for a moment as Jean tried to reevaluate his options, but Marco was too quick for him, "I'm hanging up now, okay?"

"Wait!" Jean shouted a bit too loudly, "Wh-what if, I get my mom to make some banana bread for you? With the little chocolate chips!" Jean knew how much of a sucker Marco was for the teeny tiny chocolate chips.

"...And how are you going to do that?" Marco asked skeptically.

Jean thought for a moment, but it all came together in his head, "I, I can ask for her to make it as my birthday breakfast. And I'll take it to school-- The whole thing!" How could Marco refuse? Banana bread, tiny chocolate chips, and it would all be for him!

He heard a frustrated sigh from the other end, followed after even more silence. Marco must've been weighing his options, trying to decide if filthy dishes were worth free food. "And, you're _sure_ your mom will make it? Because, an' I'm being serious here Jean, if I have to clean all your gross dishes for nothing I swear I'm gonna--"

"Marco, would I ever lie to you?" Jean said as sweetly as he could before Marco could come up with any kind of threat. Assuming Marco made legitimate threats, that is. 

"...Fine." Marco sighed, not commenting on the fact that Jean had in fact lied to him before. Jean had in fact promised baked things to Marco before and not delivered, but this time he had a good reason backing him up.

"You're the best-- Marco...?" Jean pulled his phone away again, "Owwh, for fuck's sake...." He grumbled as he looked at the call ended screen. Oh well. Marco would come over, eventually. Some time today.

Jean could watch maybe, like, an entire episode of House Hunters before Marco arrived, too! It was truly a win win situation.

He didn't expect Marco to arrive in like, record time or anything, but the more time went by Jean wondered if Marco was coming at all. Maybe he'd changed his mind? Decided he could survive off of box mixes and store bakery brand baked goods for now?

Although when he realized it was nearly nearing 6 o'clock, Jean sucked it up and went into the kitchen to at least assess the damage. The pile of dishes was stacked so high in the sink, that the silverware poking out of a cup near the top were practically touching the bottom of the faucet. 

How could his mother let the dishes pile so high!? Sure she was working a lot lately, and Easter lunch had taken a lot out of her last week, and she was busy cleaning out the basement, and she was helping Hitch with her taxes, and, and... oh.

Okay so Jean really had no place to be judging the nasty mess, since he'd barely been doing anything the past few weeks that didn't involve being a moody, lazy teenager. 

It was days like these that Jean regretted how much they baked in his household. There were _so many_ dishes! Dishes in the sink, dishes in the dish drainer, dishes in the dish _washer_ , it was a fucking nightmare.

Jean had decided that at the very least, he could put the clean ones away? Then maybe if he didn't get them all... or any of them washed tonight he could say he did something. 

"I'm never baking a fucking cake again...." Jean muttered to himself as he grabbed the first of many pans out of the dish drainer before turning around and walking to the storage cabinet that it belonged in.

At least most of the dishes in the dish drainer were big things, so even if they were annoying to put away he didn't have to put away a lot of dishes. Just to make things easier on whoever was stuck with dishes later, God forbid it be him, he turned the hot water on in the sink to help moisten up all the encrusted food.

Jean shuddered as he remembered the one time his mother left to visit her sister for a week a few years ago, and Jean decided to just, not touch the dishes at all the entire time. Long story short, his mother came home pissed to a kitchen infested with gnats. And ants, _dear lord_ the ants.

His mother totally should have hired a better baby sister, one who would do the chores that weren't _required_ but would be nice to do in the event that Jean was a lazy little fuck.

Obviously Jean never let it get that far again, but he still tried putting off doing dishes until the last minute. He'd much rather do, well, literally anything else. But no, he got stuck with dish duty and Hitch was spared the trouble because she had "a lot of work to do". As if Jean's high school work was any less important!

Jean practically jumped out of his own skin, clutching the glass baking dish in his hands like his life depended on it, when he heard the doorbell ring. " _Shit_!" Was it his mom; did she go shopping!? Or was it Marco? The UPS guy?

He quickly, but carefully, set the baking dish on the counter before rushing over to get the door, his heart racing with fear. But he didn't hesitate upon opening the door, and was relieved to see Marco's face.

" _Oh_ , my god, you, you sacred the hell outta me!" Jean sighed with relief, pulling the door open more to let Marco inside. 

Marco breathed out his nose and turned his head to the side, looking at the parking lot, "I can leave if you want me to." Did he have to be such a snarky little shit sometimes? Even if he was joking, Jean's poor heart couldn't take it after the scare he just had.

"Stooop!" Jean whined, leaning on the door and opening it even more. 

"Okay, don't look so upset, I was only kidding! You're so over dramatic." Marco said with a smile, walking into the house before gently stepping out of his shoes. 

Jean closed the door, a grumpy pout still on his face from how Marco teased him, "My mom's gonna be home soon, I think? Like in an hour-ish at the _least_! What took you so long?"

Marco's eyebrows raised, like he'd just remembered something, and he started digging in his jacket pocket. "These!" He pulled out a small box with the Wendy's label on it, handing it to Jean.

"...Chicken nuggets?" Jean asked, confused as he took the barely warm box out of Marco's hand. 

And just as he was about to scold Marco for leaving him hanging, he raised his hand, "Don't even! My parents came home with it as a surprise, I couldn't just not eat any of it!" As sweet and precious as Marco was, sometimes Jean just wanted to strangle him.

"You could have _told me that_!" Jean said, but he still opened the box and popped one of the nuggets in his mouth anyway.

"I didn't think about it until my hands were all greasy, I thought you'd just assume I was walking slow or something." Marco defended himself sheepishly, clearly not proud of how he'd definitely dropped everything he was doing for the sake of some damn Wendy's.

"You're gonna end up fat if you keep eating like that, you know that right?" Jean asked, not even blinking an eye as he swallowed one chicken nugget only to replace it with another.

"Uh-uh," Marco scoffed, taking his jacket off. "I run, and I eat healthy stuff too in between all the crap. How are _you_ not fat?"

Jean rolled his eyes as he started to walk towards the kitchen, not eager to waste too much time arguing instead of washing dishes. "It's called a _metabolism_." All those biology classes were finally kicking in! Or basic 5th grade knowledge of the human body, whichever.

"Uh huh, yeah, and when you're out of puberty it's all gonna slow down and go straight to your ass. Then what?" Marco laughed, stopping at the coat closet beside the pantry to hang his coat up.

"Then I start eating everything with a slice of lettuce, that's what." Jean countered, eating his final chicken nugget and throwing the box in the trash. In reality, if Jean got too fat, he'd probably just cry about being such a lazy, ugly piece of trash. Until then though, it was butter or nothing.

"Well at least you know diet matters more than exercise." Marco sighed as he rounded the corner, but stopped with a surprised look on his face when he noticed the sink was on. "Did you... did you start doing them already?"

Jean picked up the baking dish from the counter and went to put it away with the rest, a smug look on his face, "Yeah, I did. It's almost like, _gasp_ , I'm _not_ completely useless!" His tone made him sound like he was being a complete and total _dick_ , but Marco knew it was only a joke.

"So... I _can_ leave?" Marco feigned ignorance, turning to look over his shoulder for added effect. And he called _Jean_ the dramatic one?

"I swear to _God_ you'll never see another banana bread from this house ever again." Jean warned, not entirely joking. 

"You say that," Marco started, walking towards the sink and looking down at the mess, "But, I think I'm pretty convincing." 

"Not convincing enough to get banana bread out of me without doing my dishes for me." Jean said, unhooking the dishwasher lock and letting the door hang down. There were plenty of dishes to dry so that Marco could start filling the damned thing up again.

Marco pulled his sleeves up and grabbed a sponge, soaking it under the stream of water and then smothering it in dish soap. "I'm just being a good friend." He added finally, disgust on his face as he picked up the first cup full of utensils and silverware.

"Then, then so am I! Getting you such, such _fancy_ dessert that should be for _my_ birthday." Jean tried to counter what had already been finished, but to no avail. Marco either wasn't taking the bait or just had nothing else to tease Jean with.

Jean had definitely gotten the easier job, with the most disgusting thing about drying, stacking, and putting away dishes was the coldness of the water. Marco got to touch all the filthy things in the sink. Was it a fair trade? Maybe not, but they were both getting something out of it so who could complain.

The view of Marco's face twisting in disgust as he occasionally touched a soggy piece of food was priceless, but Jean hadn't been expecting Marco to yelp and rip his hand from the sink, soapy water flying everywhere.

Jean ducked out of the way instinctively, "What!?" Unless the garbage disposal turned itself on with his hand stuck down it, there was no reason for Marco to freak out like that!

Marco shook his hand profusely before running it under the warm water again, " _Augh_ , god, I think I just touched a bone?" He looked to Jean with a slightly alarmed look in his eyes, and it only reminded Jean that Marco's dishwasher was so good they didn't _have_ to pre-soak and scrub everything in the sink.

"I was gonna say it's probably leftovers from the drumsticks we had the other night but I mean, it's probably a dead rat that crawled up the drain." Jean said with a smirk on his face, although for whatever stupid reason didn't think to back away a little bit before saying anything.

Marco didn't look amused, which made sense considering his very understandable fear of dead animals. "Okay, check then!" He said as a smile begun to appear on his face, and he grabbed Jean's left wrist and pulled it towards the sink.

" _Nn_ \-- Stop!" Jean gasped, nearly tripping over the dishwasher door that was between them as Marco dunked a good quarter of Jean's arm into the sink. Jean immediately felt repulsed as he felt the hot, greasy water touch his skin.

Thankfully Marco let go of his hand before forcing him to touch any of the slime, or bones in this case, that were sitting at the bottom of the sink. 

Jean stood upright again and smacked Marco's arm. He went to wipe his hand off on Marco's shirt until Marco noticed what was about to happen and backed away. "Oh stop it, you deserved that." Marco defended himself, a smug smile on his face.

"Well, ufhf, I could have like, slipped and died on the dishwasher!" Jean scoffed, flustered as he reached across the counter to grab the clean tongs. "Here get the stupid, bone or whatever." He muttered, embarrassed as he placed it down on the counter within Marco's reach.

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" Marco laughed lightly, unfazed by Jean's attitude. 

"Because you're thirsty for all the butter, oil, and fat your family won't feed you but I will? And because you love me?" Jean said it as a bitter kind of joke, sarcastically, but he froze as he felt the need to fix what he'd said. 

Marco didn't seem upset or offended by it, and why should he? Marco loved Jean too, just not in the same way as Jean did. Or maybe Jean had gotten lucky and Marco didn't hear what he said over the sound of the faucet running?

Not taking any chances, Jean looked down at the towel he was using to dry the dishes, "Sorry, you _like_ me.... Even if I still don't know why." Jean added the last part rather quietly, and he wished he had more restraint.

Why was it that the more normal things seemed to get, the more comfortable Jean was with just, being with Marco again, the easier it was to bring up the things that had caused them to drift apart in the first place?

He was supposed to ignore those things, to let them fade in the back of his mind. Yet here he was acting like it was, _normal_ , and that it was like any other thing they talked about. It all just kinda, flowed from his mouth so easily. 

Neither of them said anything else after that, with Jean awkwardly berating himself in his mind for being so stupid, and Marco quietly going about the business of scrubbing dishes and dropping them back into the warm water of the sink.

"...Jean, my birthday party last year? D'you remember that?" Marco asked suddenly, breaking what might've dragged onto be a dreadfully quiet silence had the sink not been running. 

"Wh-what about it?" Jean asked, recalling the memories with a slight amount of embarrassment. It was an interesting day, and definitely a hot one.

"I don't know why you always say things like you do," Marco sighed, "Like, you think you're good enough sometimes, but you're not good enough to everyone else?" 

Jean was somewhat taken aback, but he only stared at the water rushing out of the faucet, as if focusing on it would erase any expression on his face. Yeah Jean's self image could be a little inconsistent, but so what? He just understood that he wasn't the ideal guy, and so yeah, he was a little curious as to what it really was that Marco found attractive.

"You were so, _sweet_ that day, and you made it really... nice. " Marco tried to explain, his words seeming both carefully picked and genuine. "You just didn't care about, about _upsetting_ me with little stuff." He sounded almost stressed, and Jean wasn't sure why as he forced himself to look Marco's way.

" _That's_ what I like, a-and I miss that kind of stuff. I wish you'd just, treat me the same way you did then, but you stopped doing that...." Marco's hand brushed gently over Jean's where the tongs were, and damnit, Jean's heart fluttered just a bit from how gentle and cautious the touch was.

"Wh-when'd you fall in love with me? _Why_?" Marco's voice wavered only for a moment, but even so, he didn't sound very confident either.

Their faces were so close together, a side effect of Marco having to be so close for his lowered voice to be heard over the running water. Jean could see the look in Marco's eyes, and he could tell how much Marco really wanted to know.

He'd thought about when exactly it was that he fell in love. He had no idea. He had no idea, and all he knew was that this right now was the _why_. Even when Marco was keeping things to himself, he was so sincere and honest with Jean. It practically crushed Jean's heart that he kept making things confusing for them.

But as Jean felt the light touch on his hand feel a bit warmer for the moment, he wanted Marco to know why it was so easy to love him, to show him if he could, to just lean a little bit more forward....

Jean tore his hand away from the counter as he remembered what _Eren_ had done to Armin on New Year's, stealing away a kiss that just wasn't his. 

He'd been so startled as he'd backed away that he slammed his ankle on the cabinet beneath the peninsula, but he was too focused on freaking the hell out to care for the dull thud turning into a white hot ache. 

Marco stared at Jean, hurt and bewilderment on his face, "Jean!? What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" 

Jean had lifted his dry hand to his face, covering his mouth before touching his face, not sure how to keep his heart from racing so much. "I-I, I'm... fine! It's fine." He forced out the stammered mess.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other with nothing but the sound of the water rushing into the sink to keep them company. 

Marco's face changed, like he'd only just realized what was done, " _Jean_ ,... I'm _sorry_." 

Jean knew that. Of course he knew that. Marco would never pressure Jean for something like that, asking him about the hows and whys of Jean's love for him. But he had and Jean panicked, and maybe Jean _deserved_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mikasa is canon goth what are you doing" nope. Not in my story. She has both her parents and is living a happy fun life as a quiet girl who likes to party and have fun. Isayama's laws don't apply here.
> 
> Pretty please let me know in a comment how you felt about the chapter, and tysm for reading!!


	2. Plot Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy happy birthday, from everyone to Jean, nothing's really going his way, but isn't teen angst fun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But, but, the series says buy Jean a dildo 2k16, and it's 2017 now!" not in the timeline of the story it's not ;^)  
> Visit my tumblr, crackerjacknotanon, to send me asks/messages.
> 
> **This chapter update is, as of reading, UNEDITED! Please forgive any mistakes, as I will get to them later. But feel free to message me any glaring errors on my tumblr   
> ***This still hasn't been edited. Later is a dream's dream away my friends.

All panic and confusion aside, Jean refused to let what happened ruin his birthday. Even Marco understood what Jean wanted after the fact, having not talked to him pretty much at all since the awkward confrontational "talk" they had just a few days ago.

Was it what Jean really wanted? Maybe not, but it was what he thought would keep things under control until today. A thousand apologies from Marco wouldn't make him feel better, but some space away from each other wasn't a bad thing.

Back to square one. Again. What happened wasn't entirely Jean's fault but he still pushed things he knew he shouldn't've been. 

For as uncomfortable as he felt, Jean knew it was his fault for not really thinking about it. And either way, he wasn't going to let it last forever. 

Today was his _birthday_ , after all. If there were any day for them to not-kiss and make up and try putting everything behind them into a dark hole where no one would ever find their issues again, it was today.

Jean kept checking his phone while getting ready, looking for more notifications that he hoped would be more happy birthday messages. Yes, his phone would notify him of those things for him, but what if it _didn't_? Or it was a bit delayed? Jean was just double checking, alright?

He'd been getting messages since midnight, and Jean wasn't gonna deny it; He loved this kind of attention. Even all the obscure and obligatory messages put a smile on his face! 

Distant family and friends on facebook who weren't _really_ his friends all got the notification that it was his birthday today. And even though they probably didn't talk to him since the last "Happy birthday!" messages, they all woke up today and decided to say _the exact same thing_ as last year, again! Maybe even with a _different_ emoji this time, how exciting!

He didn't like being told was how he was officially 1 year away from adulthood by some of the people he was closer to, though. Suddenly all the problems of every 17 year old he knew seemed so real. But he had a whole year to procrastinate about that nonsense, so it was fine!

"Jeany, what are you doing up so early?" He heard his mother ask after she'd come down the stairs, shock and confusion in her voice. 

"Getting ready for school?" He asked, a small but dangerous amount of sass in his voice. He wasn't about to stay home from school just because his mom had some secret plans regarding his birthday. 

"I'm not stayin' home today when all my friends probably have stuff for me." He explained further, turning his attention back to the toaster which had been taking a little too long to toast his bagel.

Could Jean have asked his friends to bring stuff in the day before? Yeah. And did he like early presents? Definitely. But he also wanted an excuse to not have to stay home all day, alone, when he had no idea what exactly his mother was trying to do. 

His mother looked faintly upset, huffing and shaking her head after a moment, "You could stay home all day and do whatever you want!" Oh yeah, whatever he wanted all alone without anyone to celebrate his birthday with. Because that was fun, right?

"I already said no!" Jean repeated. At the very least, his bagel was finally done. Something to take some of the bitterness out of his tone.

"Well then I'll drive you to school! It's still chilly in the mornings, you don't want to catch a cold for the weekend now do you?" His mother said, surprisingly not jumping to correct the attitude she was being given.

"No," Jean insisted, trying not to burn his hands as he hastily plucked the bagels from the toaster and tossed them onto his plate. "I'm not gonna have enough time to eat this if you drive me there!" 

It'd just be better if Jean could eat the bagel on the walk over. Alone. And definitely not having a five minute car ride with his mother who would probably strike up some kind of embarrassing conversation about how proud she was of Jean and how he was so grown up and almost and adult and _who cares_.

Regardless, his mother didn't seem to like what she was hearing. "Okay, I understand." She sighed, her defeat evident as she adjusted her purse while turning to leave, "Just don't go anywhere with your friends after school, alright?"

Jean wasn't sure whether to be excited about the possibility of her words or not. Clearly something was planned, but what? "Yeah, uh-huh." He muttered, rolling his eyes when he knew his mother couldn't see. 

"Have a good day at school, love you!" His mother said, walking towards the front door. 

"Yeap. Love you too." Jean yelled in response, giving a wave to her that was more like an annoyed swat. He was kind of annoyed, but that was partly because he just couldn't find the butter dish on the counter.

Was a plain bagel with some butter the ideal birthday breakfast? No, but was he going to get up early to make something else? Fuck no, it was _his_ birthday, he shouldn't have to do that himself! And he was kind of out of frozen chocolate chip pancakes, so, this was his best option.

Once his bagel halves were buttered and ready to be eaten, Jean took his phone out of his pocket again. And what a surprise, no new notifications. Everyone was probably too busy or still asleep, that was it. Or they forgot. 

It didn't really matter though, not when he was looking forward to any form of gifts he would get at school. Jean hated that his birthday was not only so close to Eren's, but also _afterwards_ , because it usually meant anyone who knew them both wound up spending more money on Eren's gifts without thinking about it.

But who knows? Maybe no one had gotten Eren anything special this year and for once Jean could get things that were worth an extra 3 dollars than normal. Jean loved free stuff either way, but that didn't mean he couldn't get excited over fancier things than expected!

Jean only somewhat regretted rejecting his mother's offer of driving him to school. It really _was_ still kinda cold in the morning, enough that he tried to rush eating his butter sandwich before it got too cold, despite it burning his hands.

And again he checked his phone, disappointed at the lack of notifications for anything, from anyone. He'd tried asking a few people what they were getting him, because you know, maybe they'd tell him a few hours early? But to no avail.

He at least wished Marco had offered to walk to school with him, considering the birthday thing and all, but he hoped it was because Marco wanted to surprise Jean with whatever he'd gotten for him later.

That and he was sure Marco preferred the warmth of a bus ride to school rather than walking all the way to Jean's house, then to walk another 15 minutes in the cold to school, probably holding some kind of present to boot. 

Was Jean really expecting a huge gift? Not really. But after Christmas, who knows? And Jean never really did have a list or anything of what he wanted. He figured if anyone knew him enough to care, then they'd know what he wanted without having to ask, right?

Regardless, he never went and got his hopes up or anything. He certainly wasn't dying for a rabbit shaped spoon holder or whatever the hell Armin was making for him, but he still appreciated it. 

And with Marco saving up his money? Jean knew he wasn't getting anything ridiculously expensive. Not unless Marco started saving right after Christmas.

Despite all his conflicting thoughts and feelings, Jean knew he had to make his first stop at Marco's locker anyway. He'd get the wondering and the awkwardness out of the way right off the bat, or at least try to.

He felt less and less confident the closer he got to the building, suddenly reminded that, yeah, he had to actually do school things today. Jean would've liked to believe that it was why he was growing more uncomfortable and anxious as he navigated the crowded hallways like any other day. 

Truthfully, he was just unsure how to go about making that social bridge from where things were now, over that very scary, enormous river of disaster, and back over to things being normal and fine again. He knew that it wasn't going to be like a light switch, but he felt like he needed to try harder if thing were going to go anywhere but down.

It was the wait that started to kill him, because of course he got to school before Marco did. There was just enough time for Jean to think about all kinds of things. Anything and everything. He was anxious to know what his present was, and because he was nervous to look Marco in the eyes again. 

And he realized the bagel he'd eaten for breakfast definitely wasn't enough to keep him full for the next 4 or so hours. He could just go to the cafeteria and get breakfast there, if only he had the money to pay for it. 

Maybe Jean could just, leave now and go to home room? Finish up any homework he didn't do or something? It was his birthday week after all, he did tend to slack on his schoolwork. Always too preoccupied thinking of himself, and what gifts he might get. 

Which reminded Jean yet again that he was standing in the hallway waiting on one of his presents. This of course assuming Marco was coming to school today, but why wouldn't he? Unless maybe he had some kind of horrible surprise flu. It wasn't exactly warm enough to go running around in shorts and tank tops, right?

Jean cursed himself for being so, so all over the damn place, but what else was he supposed to do? He was excited because it was his birthday, worried things wouldn't be okay with Marco, and he couldn't figure out how to keep his mind off of either of the two things to stop him from being so damn impatient.

He was like a cup of soda with Mentos in it: a complete fucking mess. And who could fault him for that? It wasn't like there were any guides on how to deal with his kind of situation. Or if there were, they were probably stupid little tips like breathing exercises and counting to 10.

Jean hated having to count how long he was breathing! And counting in general! It seemed like a big waste of time meant to make you _think_ you're calm, if you asked him.

A forever that wasn't actually that long filled with scratching his hands and checking his phone way too much finally passed before Marco appeared at the other end of the hall, much to Jean's... conflicting feelings.

But he tried to play it off as best as he could, which, while not that well, he hoped Marco would see as just Jean wanting to get to his gift instead of anything else. 

"Morning!" Jean greeted, a nervous smile spreading across his face. His heart wasn't pounding so hard he could feel it or anything, but he was definitely aware of his nerves as he stepped out of the way so Marco could actually get into his locker. 

If Marco could sense that there was anything wrong, he didn't show it. He just smiled back at Jean, in what... seemed like something a little nervous himself. "Uh huh, happy birthday! Again." Right, because he'd already sent Jean a good amount of happy birthday messages since midnight.

Act casual. Or whatever, yeah? "Speaking of which, I'm the same age as you now, _again_." Jean said, leaning over a little with a more genuine smile on his face. It always did bug him that Marco was older than him, but for a couple months of the year? Jean could pretend that wasn't the case. 

"Yuh huh, yep." Marco said shortly, going through the motions of pulling things out of his book-bag to put them into his locker and vice versa rather quickly. 

"Sooo," Jean said, turning his head to look inside said bag, "What'd you get me?" Then he looked at Marco's face to see his reaction, and saw Marco staring into his locker with wide eyes, sucking in his lips. 

Jean straightened himself out, swallowing, "Uhh, did you... did you forget it at home?" It was a possibility, but still disappointing. 

When Marco turned his head briefly and they made eye contact, Jean blinked, confused, "April Fool's Day was like last week, Marco!" He tried to joke, but there was no hiding the rising concern in his voice.

Marco turned fully to look at Jean, embarrassment written all over his face, "It's not that I didn't _get_ you anything it's just that... it's not, it's not here yet? It's in the mail...."

Jean scoffed, taken aback, "Wh-what!? How long did you wait to order it? I thought you bought it already like last month or something!" He whined, his heart sinking and his face immediately turning to a frown.

"I did!" Marco said defensively, "It just, it said it'd be here sooner than it actually is!"

That was not a good enough excuse, not for Jean. "Where the hell did you buy it? Don't you have like, Amazon Prime or whatever? Stuff ships in like, a day or whatever?" 

Marco didn't say anything, or even move. He just stood there, staring at Jean, until a half smile twitched up on his face.

"Oh my god you didn't even get me anything did you!?" Jean accused with a huff, his disappointment more than apparent to anyone around who had the misfortune of hearing them talk.

"I did!" Marco repeated, like a perfectly trained parrot. 

Jean tried to push down all his disappointment, "O-okay," He breathed, looking down at the floor for a moment, "Can I at least have my card then?"

Marco opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he didn't know what to say, before finally managing to give Jean at least some kind of response, "It's... at home."

" _Oh my god_...." Jean muttered, closing his eyes and wishing he could just smash his head in on the locker next to them. 

"I wanted you to have them both together!" Marco continued explaining, holding his hand up like he thought Jean might just crumple to the floor, "B-but if you really want it I can bring it to your house after school?" 

Jean huffed out his nose, looking around as if he were missing something. "No, I gotta do something with my mom after school, man, Jesus Christ." Did he have to do something with his mom immediately after school? No. But he was upset and stressed out and he was being a bit of a child about things. So what?

Marco looked so upset, not that he could be more so than Jean already was. "Ohh, stop, c'mon you look like you're gonna cry." He said quietly, shame in his voice. And he should feel ashamed! Jean certainly felt like crying, his whole plan was ruined! 

Today was gonna be the first _real_ step in making things okay again! Marco was supposed to give him his present and his card and it was gonna be great and, stuff! 

"It's barely been like, an hour and you already ruined my birthday." Jean pouted, his arms crossed as he refused to look Marco in the eye. Was he exaggerating? Yes. But did Marco know that? Yeah, probably. Jean had said worse and meant less before.

"Jean...." Marco sighed, closing his locker, "I'll make it up to you, okay? Really!" His voice was pleading, but more positive than it was before. 

"How?" Jean asked after a while, trying his best not to allow things to run right off the edge and into the river of disaster he'd hoped they could avoid. "I'm goin' to my Nana's for the whole weekend, so how?" He repeated, lifting his gaze slightly to meet Marco's.

And of course Marco had to go and look away, a sheepish look on his face, "It's gonna be a surprise." 

Jean rolled his eyes and turned away, scoffing again, "You're an asshole!" He was serious, but he kept his tone as light as he could possibly force his bitter, disappointed, sad self to be. Which as you could imagine, wasn't very light at all. 

"I mean it." Marco insisted, "Jean, I'm serious!" He didn't sound all that confident, but when he gently forced Jean to turn and look at him? Jean got stuck looking at Marco's face. His understandably nervous, but goddamn gorgeous fucking face. 

So, Jean believed him, but he shrugged off Marco's hand and lightly slapped his arm, "You're still an asshole." He sighed, a blush rising in his face as he looked away. God, he never wanted their faces to be that close again. 

"Awwh," Marco sounded like he might just have a mocking tone to his voice, but Jean couldn't really tell. "But what about the time you forgot my birthday because you thought it was on a different day?" 

Jean blushed even harder at that, embarrassed even more, "I-I thought it was two damn days _earlier_ than it really was, it's not the same at all!" How dare Marco even try changing the subject anyway?

"Okay, okay, but you still forgot. I didn't forget!" Marco said, backing up to avoid what he probably thought was going to be another assault from Jean. 

Instead, Jean decided to turn and walk away, and not give Marco the satisfaction of well, anything really. "You better be getting me a puppy or something!" He demanded over his shoulder, although as upset as he was, he couldn't let himself appear that way too much for too long. Not when Marco basically promised he'd make it up to Jean in spades.

He wished Marco didn't have to put a speed bump in Jean's plan, and not the one just for his birthday. Baby steps, or whatever else would make people feel better about failure. Jean was just glad that Marco didn't bring up the previously promised banana bread that he was supposed to bring today, although with what happened, it'd be silly for Marco to still expect it.

 

Jean could definitely have had a better start to his birthday, even for it being a school day, but he couldn't say he was expecting the best birthday or anything like that. Just, something a little less awkward and disappointing.

Plus, how could he be so bitter when the day didn't get any worse from there? He got a lollipop from his homeroom teacher, and enough passive happy birthday comments from some classmates he wouldn't consider friends but who'd he'd let borrow a pencil if they asked for one.

No one was busting out tons of cash and expensive gifts for him, but he did get a few nice things from his _actual_ friends. Some things he'd have to wait to unwrap at home, but he wasn't expecting much. 

Especially not from Sasha, the last person he planned on talking to for obligatory presents and good wishes before school got out. She never spent a dime on him, or anyone when it came to presents. It was the same exact thing for every holiday, every year: Food.

Which, y'know, _sounded_ pretty good, because who didn't like eating, right? Except for the odd time here and there where Sasha had something to offer like the raw livers of various wild animals and other kinds of giblets and things. 

It was weird enough to offer someone raw meat, but raw meat of wild animals you'd killed yourself? Very thoughtful, but also very fucking weird. Luckily, Jean made sure Sasha _knew_ that's how he felt about it.

He wished he'd had the time to track her down earlier in the day, so he could eat whatever she brought at lunch. But neither of their schedules allowed for that, and he hoped that whatever it was didn't get ruined during the day. Another Valentine's Day incident would be horrific.

And thank God, he didn't have to be the one to stand around waiting this time. After what happened in the morning he was relieved that his only job was get to Sasha's homeroom class at the end of the day and she could hand off whatever delicious treats she'd made like drug deal gone smooth.

Sasha didn't wait long to get up once Jean poked his head into the room to look around. She looked giddy as ever when she saw Jean, and he hoped that meant he was actually getting something nice and special as opposed to a kind of cover for another forgotten gift.

"Happy birthday!" She shouted as she exited the room, followed by the shushing of her teacher who heard it. _Ugh_ , teachers who felt the need for "quiet time" at the end of the day were the worst. If they weren't gonna let kids sleep in class then why bother? What was the point? 

"Tha-" Sasha immdiately threw her hand up to cover Jean's mouth, "Uh-bup-bup! Not yet, not until you see this okay? Eyes closed." 

As annoyed as he was, Jean closed his eyes anyway, but not before smacking Sasha's hand away from his mouth. Sure they were friends but they weren't _that_ friendly. 

"Open!" Sasha demanded in a dramatic tone, clearly proud of something. Hopefully Jean's perfectly normal perfectly _not_ dead animal organs present?

Jean opened his eyes and leaned back a little in confusion when he saw a giant plastic box in front of his face. With a better look at it from more than 2 inches in front of his face he could see it was just a standard plastic food container, but with cookies in it.

He pulled the container out of Sasha's hands and popped open the lid, excited to try one, and did just that without question. They were brown and so, his first guess was some kind of chocolate? 

Before his taste-buds could even decide whether or not that's what it was he realized he'd bitten into the center, which was filled with something else entirely. And god, it was kind _cold_ for some reason. It couldn't be marshmallow, so maybe what, caramel? 

"Whut the fuhhck is this?" Jean asked, his mouth full as he stopped chewing to think about what he was eating. 

Sasha's eyes were bright with a wild kind of excitement that Jean was almost scared of. Was she... using him as a fucking guinea pig? " _Sasha_." Jean repeated, ready to spit out the cookie despite how much it was making his mouth water. 

Sasha clapped her hands together and rubbed them, "Cinnamon molasses cookies, with butterscotch in the middle!" She finally exclaimed, a giddiness in her voice that confirmed Jean's earlier suspicions. 

Jean nearly choked at hearing that it was cinnamon, but he felt like an idiot for not recognizing the taste sooner anyway. 

"And you," She continued, "Are the first lucky person besides myself to taste them. They're great, right? Right?" She said, not a hint of worry in her voice. At least Jean could give her the credit of having lots of faith in her baking skills. 

But the worst part was that Jean didn't really like butterscotch. It always tasted like artificial butter flavoring, baking soda, and plastic. So, absolutely disgusting, basically. 

"They... they're good." Jean admitted begrudgingly, surprised himself that he was not only able to say it but that he actually meant it. 

"Have _faith_ , Jean, I can make anything taste good! Don't act so weird, it's not like I'm gonna feed you lemongrass or, pfftch, _green tea_!" Sasha laughed, stealing one of the cookies out of the container knowing full and well that Jean wouldn't stop her. 

Jean swallowed the rest of the cookie and wiped away the crumbs and saliva that had escaped his mouth, "Yeah, well, everyone's been actin' weird today, alright?" How could she blame him for being a little worried?

"Oh yeah? Like how?" Sasha asked, understandably curious. 

"Aside from Armin handing a spoon holder off to me in secret like it was some kind of drug deal? I dunno, I mean, Marco didn't get me anything! Or it's in the mail, or something. And he didn't even bring me a card!" Jean tried to explain, still overall miffed about the whole thing. 

"I just... I dunno like at the very _least_ he coulda' given me some money or something! Right?" Jean sighed, staring down into the bin of cookies like they would unlock all the mysteries of the universe for him.

Sasha gave a pout which could have been real or exaggeratedly fake, either way Jean couldn't tell. " _Ohhh_. Want me to give you my lunch money again? Payment's due next week." 

Of course she was joking, and Jean could appreciate that! But, no, it wouldn't help his situation. It wasn't what Marco did it was, it was the _principle_ of it. Regular friend screws up on a gift? A damn shame. Best friend screws up on a gift after a weird not but sort of attempt of a kiss a few days ago? Humongous flop down a flight of stairs, is what that is. 

"Nah, he just better not give me anything shitty." Jean huffed in a somewhat joking tone, trying to brush off any leftover pettiness he was still holding onto.

Sasha lost the pout on her face, a fake-stern look on her face, "You know what it is? You stopped bringing in cupcakes for your birthday! That was great, everyone loved that! Well I mean, I didn't love it so much, but free food's free food." 

Again with the anti-cake sacrilege? Jean could accept the choice to hate cake, but never _respect_ it. "Yeah no, that's uhh, ahaha, not happening again. Like ever." He said, thinking back on the last time he'd brought in treats specifically for his birthday. 

Was it a nice little way to celebrate? Yeah sure, kind of. Until Jean realized his birthday was about _him_ , and the complete strangers in his class should be bringing in cupcakes for him, not making his poor mother do all the work for their ungrateful asses. His real friends could come over to his house if they wanted free cake.

"Maybe it's all a prank and he's ready to dazzle all your senses with the best gift ever in the whole world!" Sasha said, obviously trying to cheer Jean up.

"Yeah? Well his sense of humor sucks." Jean reminded her, not nearly as faithful in Marco's present options considering the recent money constraint. 

"Or, you know, it's actually in the mail and FedEx is still trash, I don't know." Sasha corrected herself cleverly. Wouldn't want to go getting Jean's hopes up if the world was gonna end, now would she?

Jean shoved another cookie in his mouth, shrugging. He knew it wasn't impossible, but eh, it was his birthday and he didn't really care. "I'm gonna be stress eating the hell out of these things though." Jean said after he'd half chewed and swallowed it.

"Well save some for your family, they're probably the only thing you got today that you can share with them, right?" Sasha insisted innocently. But Jean knew she was just trying to get her weird food experiment into the mouths of as many people as possible for feedback.

Jean didn't wanna be reminded about how he was having a possibly fine possibly annoying long weekend with his mother and whoever else she could flock to his Nana's house on such short notice. 

But Sasha didn't really know anything about that, so he wasn't about to complain some more. "I mean I guess, but I got this 20 dollar gift card for Domino's, which I'm pretty sure was just a re-gift."

"If you don't want it...." Sasha whispered, only half joking. Unfortunately for her, Jean loved free pizza too much to even think about giving it up. If it was her birthday then maybe. _Maybe_.

"Mooch off someone else! And I gotta get going, my mom's got something planned for after school. I dunno what it is, I kinda don't _wanna_ know what it is, but if she's leaving work early she's gonna be pissed." Jean sighed, reluctant to cut the conversation short.

Sasha looked confused, but stepped to the side anyway, "You make it sound like you're going to the dentist. Try to have fun, will ya?" 

Jean didn't make any comment, closing the cookie bin up tight before letting his book bag slide off one of his shoulders for easy access. If the cookies had been in anything other than a plastic box they'd probably just get demolished by his books on the walk home. 

"When d'you want this thing back by?" He asked as he unzipped his bag and slipped the container inside. Jean had been in the position of losing everything in the kitchen at a slow, steady, but inevitably noticeable rate. And why? Because he was kind of a dumbass in the past and didn't ask for people to return things.

Sasha shrugged, waving her hand around, "Ehh, y'know, whenever. Eat the cookies, bring the thing back, not too hard." It was about as easy as it sounded, but some people... lord they could not commit to that kind of responsibility. 

"Got it. See ya Monday then, probably." Jean said, swinging his bag back around to slip on his other arm again. 

"See ya!" Sasha echoed back with a wave as she turned around and headed back into her classroom to wait for her bus. 

That was Jean's cue to suck it up and hit the road, and he hoped that whatever surprise plan his mother made to celebrate wasn't gonna be some IOU or personal attack on his privacy. And he'd have to find out sooner or later, but with less of a pep his step and taking the scenic route? He was choosing later.

* * *

Balloons? Cake? Presents? Was _any_ of that waiting for Jean when he got home? No. No it wasn't, and his mom wasn't home early either. So what was the idea!? His mother insisted he stay home today, and that he at least not do anything with anyone after school, so if she wasn't coming home early then why did he have to be home in the first place?

Then again what else should Jean have expected? It wasn't like this birthday was one for the books; they usually never were since he hit his teenage years. Less pressure on his mom to make his childhood good and special, he guessed.

Did his mother think he was gonna go out and party with his friends or something? It was a fucking Thursday, where would they even _go_? Did adults and college kids even like, go out on Thursdays? Was that a thing or was it just in the movies where teens would sneak out on school nights to do crazy shit?

Whatever, Jean certainly wasn't in a "let's do wild and crazy illegal shit" mood, not now and probably not ever. Alcohol and loud parties were definitely terrible in his book. Worse than weddings, even. Maybe his sort of but not really Catholic upbringing really did do something for his behavior. Eugh.

At least he had cookies while he waited anxiously for... _whatever_ was supposed to happen today, right? 

When he got into his room he thought he could just kick back and masturbate for a while but, fuck, that'd take _work_. And the less opportunity he had to think about Marco's lips, the better.

He didn't even have to look at his homework until Sunday, so he could do pretty much anything he wanted, right? Although in all honesty he could focus on his English a bit more. 

Ever since his dreadful mistake in how he confessed to Marco, it was always in the back of his mind that he'd fucked up a word as simple as " _sincerely_ ". 

Y'know what, who the hell even used that word in casual conversation anyway!? Jean didn't have a clue! Sincere, yes, okay maybe. Sincerest, even, if he just so happened to get an e-mail from some company about some thing they bungled up with an online order.

But Jean never saw sincerely unless he was reading a book or _writing a damn letter_. English was hard, okay? At least with baking the rules were the same no matter what. Ovens are hot. Sugar is sweet. French cuisine is insane and should never be practiced. None of that I after E and homonyms and similes crap....

God help him, if only home economics was anywhere close to existence in his high school? Maybe he wouldn't have to worry about English as much. Boost his grades with things like that and art, instead of worrying about English, Spanish, and history. 

Speaking of which, maybe Jean could call up his poor excuse of a study group to help him force himself to research for their next history test. But, that would require actually listening to people about history. So, no, no that wasn't gonna help him pass the time either. 

There was just this nervousness mixed with excitement that made it impossible for him to just do something. Stuck between wanting to do as many entertaining things as possible before whatever kind of hectic weekend was ahead of him, and trying not to get too caught up in something he'd have to leave in the middle of if his mother actually did come home early.

He huffed as he looked into the corner of his room, his sketchbook and all manner of messy art things thrown on top of each other. There was _that_ he could work on... there was an okay drawing of a kitten in a basket he'd been meaning to finish coloring.

Temporarily motivated to at least try, he tossed his book bag to the floor and went to sit down by the clusterfuck. Organized chaos? Nah. Chaotic chaos is what it is.

Jean snagged the top sketchbook off the pile and flipped through it, pretending he didn't see the flunky and failed projects of the past, unfinished or simply not meeting his standards. He wasn't overly pleased when he stopped on the page with his latest accomplishment, but he grimaced as he noted how... unfinished it was.

Like no shit, of course it wasn't done, he knew that. But he thought he'd done so much more with it! Didn't the basket have more of a twiney look to it? No? It was more like, straw than twine. And yes there _was_ a difference! 

Tentatively, he decided that watercolor pencils would do and grabbed the plastic box of them from the pile. Watercolor pain might just look better but, Jean didn't think that far ahead when he'd started. This wasn't his watercolor-ready sketchbook, after all.

"Okay... what color's a cat?" Jean asked himself with a sigh, fingering through the many pencils, taking note that he didn't want the cat to blend in with the basket at all. 

Black was out of the question; black never looked good in any of his stuff. He wanted the basket to be as generic as possible, a pale orange or beige, so those colors were out. And while he knew that brown cats did exist, that wasn't gonna work for him. 

The longer he stared down at it, chewing at the flesh of his cheeks inside of his mouth in distaste, he thought that he should just leave it. Make it a white cat, why not? Well, a slightly _gray_ cat.

A little white cat with cute little blue eyes, it seemed perfect, until Jean remembered that white cats with blue eyes were commonly deaf. That was depressing. Well plain white was boring anyway, he could do something else.

Change of plans then! A calico, yeah, that'd work. Slap some spots on there and call it a day. Yeah. Yes! That'd work. 

Jean got right to work, pulling out a green pencil for the eyes and gently scraping the tip on the paper. Cat eyes were round, and they had little layers of color to them. He couldn't just go to town with the pencil, that'd ruin it! 

Once he finished getting the general areas of each eye covered he went in with a yellow pencil to touch up the inner and middle sections of the eyes. He went back over the eyes in green again, in the opposite direction as he applied just a bit more pressure to make it look darker. The final touch? A little bit of orange over the whole irises, just a little.

Annnnnd...! 

"Fuck it." Jean sighed, pushing the sketchbook off his lap and neatly onto the floor.

The moment was gone. He looked down at his phone to see how much time had passed, and he groaned. It had been a grand total of, barely even 20 minutes since he got home! What an accomplishment he'd made.

He knew this was going to be a very frustratingly long wait, assuming his mother wasn't coming home withing the next 10 minutes, anyway.

Jean returned to his bed, huffing and mumbling about how stupid this all was. Would there be any kind of celebration today or not!? 

Either way, Jean yanked his bag up and onto his bed so he could could take out the glorious cookies that he knew he wouldn't be able to save for his mother. While he was at it he pulled his other gifts out too, debating the option to order pizza....

It would be a no, though. Knowing his luck, the pizza would arrive, his mother would come home with dinner plans, and he'd get yelled at. 

The little blue spoon holder, as Armin seemed to think it was, reminded Jean of BlueBunny ice cream, and he breathed out his nose strongly and shortly at the thought of more food he couldn't have. 

All he could do to remedy his boredom-driven cravings was pop open the cookie container and put one in his mouth, even if he'd get sick of them eventually. Butterscotch really wasn't something he could eat all day long, cravings or not.

Jean would still need to find some place for the rabbit to go, it wasn't like he needed it in his room. The best it could hold would be like, a few paintbrushes or pens? But he preferred losing those things to the cluttered floor, kicking them under his furniture by mistake, thank you very much.

It could go in the bathroom, be a toothbrush holder. The cute bunny's image would deter Jean from ever using his manual toothbrush as a dildo, that's for sure. 

Or at least that would be semi believable to anyone who didn't know he shoved a holy cross up his ass. 

The thought hadn't even crossed Jean's mind, no, he was moving onto his next temporary time waster: The internet. Netflix was _very_ tempting, but Jean knew better than to get invested in any movie or series when it wasn't like he could finish it before his mom came home anyway. 

YouTube? No, nothing good. Not unless he wanted to fall to the filthy click-bait in the recommended section. He clicked one thing, _one thing_ about "fun tips with vinegar" and the recommended box was clogged with weird vegan super natural cleaning vloggers for months. Never again.

Jean leaned over his bed and felt around the floor, looking for his headphones, before finding and pulling them up to use. If he couldn't decide what to do right now, at least he could listen to music to try killing as much time as possible.

 

The time ticked on, and Jean kept staring at his laptop just flicking between tabs because he really had no idea how to kill his nerves, and his mother didn't come home early. 

But, Jean felt a gentle rumble through the house, which could only mean that someone had opened and closed the front door.

He pulled off his headphone and dropped them onto the bed before making his way out of the room to investigate.

Low and behold, when he came downstairs and saw his mother in the entryway, he noted that she was home on time. If anything, she was late! And she had Hitch with her, carrying a few bags from the grocery store.

As if his birthday couldn't get any more disappointing? Hitch being home early was never gonna be a bonus! Ever!

"Jeany, good you're down here! How was school?" His mother greeted.

So, no last minute gifts then, or more than average dinner plans. Unless his gift was from aisle 11 where all the gags and shit were to get fussy toddlers to scream their parents into spending an extra 3 bucks?

"...Fine." Jean stated plainly, too bummed to go into detail about the cookies, or about Marco's lack of gift, or that there was now a clay rabbit sitting in the main bathroom.

"Make sure you pack your things tonight, okay? I don't want us to be late tomorrow. Don't bring too much though I don't want you to stay up all night!" His mother requested cheerily, heading into the kitchen with Hitch not saying a single word. Jean would have been sharp to wonder why, but he was feeling rather dull today.

"So... what's for dinner?" Jean asked as he walked down the rest of the stairs, following them into the kitchen. 

His mother looked excited, although not too much so, "Well I know it's your birthday, so I thought I'd make that pizza chicken thing you used to love!" 

The "pizza chicken thing" was just chicken covered in mozzerella, marinara and pepperonis. Of course as a kid Jean thought it was the best shit in the world because, well, it was called pizza chicken! How could a kid not be excited about that?

But he was practically an adult now-- In fact, how the hell did his mother even _remember_ the recipe? She stopped making it at some point because chicken breast had been too expensive one year, and they just... never really made it again. 

Jean had moved onto tastier, more sophisticated foods. You know, like chicken wrapped in bacon. Very sophisticated, so much more mature of a palette than when he was younger, for sure.

"Oh-kayyy, weird. But okay." Jean said, his face twisted in skepticism. Still, there was a smile to his face, a little bit of joy in the prospect of eating something he hadn't eaten, or even really thought about, in years.

Hitch didn't even roll her eyes as she turned around after taking the food out of the bags she'd carried in, passing by Jean without even a snide "happy birthday". Someone was in a bad mood, or a good one? Eh, Jean didn't know or care enough to think about it.

Jean was going to complain, to ask why his mother had bothered insisting he stay home only to show up almost late with nothing but their free loader to show for it. But, why dwell on the bad when there was something else on his birthday to really feel good about?

Contrary to what some people might believe, Jean couldn't be a petty, bitter bean all the time. 

His mother looked at him briefly before grabbing a frying pan from the cabinet, "So what kind of gifts did you get?" So much for not dwelling on the bad?

"Uh," Jean began, sighing as his mood slightly dropped again. "Marco... didn't have anything for me." He wanted to get that out of the way reeeal quick.

A truly shocked gasp came out of her mouth, slight concern on her face, "Really? Why, is his family having money problems? Did you two have another f--" 

"No!" Jean interrupted quickly, "He just, he said it's like, in the mail. Or whatever. That's what he _says_." Jean mumbled the last part, knowing that Marco more than likely wasn't lying, but still needing to get it out there that he was disappointed. 

"Ohh," And just like that, his mother was back at ease. "I see. Well, you know, the mail's always kind of finicky this time of year!" 

Jean blinked, "In... April? After Easter?" Bullshit. 

His mother shrugged, "Well...." He thought she might leave it at that, one of those mom things where she's right because she says so, that's why. 

But, she picked back up on it after a moment, "Just don't let one missed gift make things messy, alright? The both of you have been acting so, so _funny_ lately, I just want to make sure you're not getting into silly fights for nothing."

Jean was quiet, but a little stunned and even a little annoyed. He couldn't help himself from asking, "Funny? Funny _how_?" 

For someone who was so offended his mother never knew he was gay, he sure did seem upset that she could pick up on the simple facts that Jean had been doing and treating the subject of his supposed best friend very differently the past two months.

"Just, he's barely over anymore, and you two usually talk all through the night on that Skype thing, but that hasn't really been happening lately now has it?" She explained, and there was more evidence she could probably point out, too. 

Before Jean could even think about how he could respond, his mother leaned in and whispered, "Is he seeing someone?" 

The question was like a drill bit being shoved into his abdomen, and as if that had really happened Jean whipped around, scoffing, shaking his head and blinking wildly in disbelief and unpreparedness. "N-n-no! No? I, what? No, ugh! Mom don't say stuff like that!" 

His mother persisted, "I know, it's hard for you to talk to me about your friends and, things that are _private_ to you, but I was a teenager once too! I know how it is when your friends are too busy with their dates to spend time with you."

 _God_ did she have it wrong! Which, y'know, all things considered was probably for the best, but still! This was not the kind of personal one-on-one convos he wanted to have with his mom about dating-stuff! He was expecting an extended, flubbed over "gay version" of The Talk from her, but not this!

"Mom! _Stop_!" Jean pleaded, trying to shake the shame from his face. But his reaction was only pointing her further in the direction she was headed, and there was no turning back now. Not without implicating the truth.

"No, no sweetheart, _listen_ , just because he's spending a lot of time with some girl doesn't mean he's not your best friend anymore. You better not be fighting with him about it, you know you have to support his choices, right?" She continued, a slight nagging to her voice that annoyed Jean to no end. 

Jean just stood there, staring at the ceiling light and shaking his head while furiously sucking on his lips. God, he was embarrassed and he didn't even know who for! He was damn sure he didn't want any of his friends' parents talking about how Jean was totally dating someone and wasn't giving enough attention to anyone else.

He couldn't even say anything! Deny it and, what, his mother assumes something closer to the truth? She calls up Marco's parents, pokes around, and then _they_ put two and two together? Lord, no.

Luckily his mother allowed the attitude and sass Jean was expressing to slide, focusing on the counter littered with ingredients still in their packages. "Don't let girls-- O-or boys! Don't let, _any_ relationships get in the way of your friendships, alrighty? You think I'm being crazy, but you'll thank m--"

"Okay! I get it!" Jean shouted louder than necessary, eyes now trained on the dishwasher. His mom really didn't have a clue about anything, and Jean wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

"That's enough attitude for one day, Jeany, now please, go upstairs and pack your things. Dinner will be ready soon." His mother's demand was stern, but not angry or upset. It was Jean's birthday after all, he could get away with certain levels of "disrespect". 

Either way, Jean gladly took the opportunity to flee, before his mom had anything to say about the dreaded Talk he'd been uncomfortably anticipating since he came out. He hoped he wouldn't be getting it at his Nana's over the weekend, at the very least. Death would be the better option there.

* * *

Nervous as he was for the coming weekend, Jean didn't make a fuss or try to get out of it the night before. He packed his stuff, or whatever he thought he needed for this mystery maybe intervention trip, ate dinner, went to sleep.

What was the worst that could happen anyway? Aside from the many list of things he had thought about, everywhere ranging from church to possibly finding out that some of his cousins actually were quite homophobic on top of being nosy assholes. Not that he expected any of them to show up, they barely knew him. 

He did notice, however, the next morning that one of his cousins definitely _would_ be there. Jean thought it suspicious when Hitch was up so early, hogging the bathroom and whatnot. What he hadn't prepared for expected when he got into the car was to see Hitch walk out of the house, her own bags in hand.

Jean was hopeful nonetheless, or in denial, as he looked at his mother through the rearview mirror, "What're we dropping her off at school?" He knew they totally weren't, but he had to ask.

"Oh no, she's coming with us! Did I forget to tell you that?" His mother responded, whole heartedly, completely genuine. Seriously, she wasn't being sarcastic. 

Jean wanted to barf, but was stunned speechless for a moment as Hitch got into the backseat opposite of him. Why on Earth did _she_ have to come!? He didn't like her! She knew that, his mom knew that, so what was the big idea? Ruin Jean's birthday? 

"Why's she coming!?" Jean practically shouted, the petty anger already on the rise. But really, he already kinda knew why. Well, an idea as to why. An inkling, a smidgen, the faintest little thing in the back of his mind that seemed too real to pay attention to in the first place.

Hitch only scoffed and rolled her eyes as she buckled up, strangely quiet, although Jean guessed that was probably just because she'd been told to behave "or else". 

"Don't complain," His mother sighed as she started the car, "It's your birthday, and your family's going to be there for you! Don't throw a fit, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times to stop bickering with each other over childhood accidents!"

Because being pushed out of a tree was an "accident", yeah okay. Jean tried swallowing all the negative feelings anyway, biting his tongue and glaring into the back of the driver's seat, trying to pretend Hitch wasn't there.

On a 3 hour trip though, it didn't take much or long to set his nerves off. And with the mood Jean was in today? He was already on edge, and being stuck not even 3 feet away from his least favorite free loader family member?

How fitting, the gentle, persistent ticking of _something_ was one of the only things that could be heard on the car ride. No radio, no real conversation, no just that damn tick. Jean didn't know what it was but he knew _who_ was making it. 

Tick. Click. Tick. Click. Tick. Click. Again and again and it was like a bug in his ear with how loud it seemed compared to everything else that _wasn't_ happening. 

He kept breathing heavier and heavier, the sound of the air coming out of his nose loud enough to hear alongside the ticking. It was annoying Hitch for sure, but Jean was the first of the two to snap, flicking his head to the side finally to search for the true source of the noise.

"That _stupid_ fucking watch! I swear to God," He groaned loudly, glaring down said watch on Hitch's left wrist. "It's so goddamn loud! Who even uses watches anymore!?" He demanded loudly, pushing his own mother's patience.

Hitch's eyebrows furrowed as she matched his glare, "It was a gift, and shut up, it's not even that loud! Not as loud as your nasty breathing. I don't think you're doing it hard enough, sure you didn't blow whatever brains you have left out while you were at it?"

It was bad. They were being petty, their insults weren't even that _good_ , and you know what? It hadn't even been an hour yet.

"Will you two _please_ stop fighting!? For once! Jean, if you don't cut it out my mother will hear about this, and I'm sure you won't like her punishment any more than mine." His mother snapped, not taking her eyes off the road though even for a second. 

Jean didn't want to distract his mom while she was driving, it was dangerous after all. Friday on a highway, not the best place to be driving with two arguing "people" in the background. They were acting like children, so it would be too much to call them teenagers. Not with how petty they were being. 

"She shouldn't even _be_ here! She's gonna ruin my whole birthday!" Jean retorted, the huffing and puffing at no extra charge.

"Well I don't wanna go either but I'm going anyway, so stop being such a bitch about it. What, you want me to break your arm again or something? Will that shut you up?" Hitch spat back with a condescending tone. 

It was clear that she definitely didn't wanna be in the car, going where they were going, with whatever mystery purpose there was to it. This had an intervention spelled all over it, and Jean hated the idea. Was Hitch the only family member they could find on such short notice to drag up to his Nana's? 

"Enough!" His mother shouted, "I'm not turning this car around no matter how much you two fight! Hitch, you are nearly 21 and here you are acting like you're 12! And Jean, if you want to be treated like an adult from this point on you better start _acting like it_." 

That shut them up, for the moment. Jean knew that, as much trouble they were in at the moment, the news of their petty fighting would earn them some god awful Catholic punishment from his Nana when they arrived. 

If the 5 minutes of bitter aggression was to tell Jean anything about the weekend to come, he was in for some real bullshit. Not that he thought it would come from his Nana specifically, but if this was some weird mini family gathering, he clearly didn't have the energy or patience to deal with inane poking and prodding they were so famous for.

 

Jean had a headache by the time they pulled into his Nana's driveway, and he wanted to groan at the thought of what kind of scolding he knew he'd receive later once his mother told he about what happened on the drive up. Happy birthday to him, right?

Hitch didn't seem all that fumed though, perhaps because she wasn't as annoyed by Jean as he was by her. At least she'd more than likely have to join Jean in whatever punishment they were given.

"Alright," His mother started as she turned the car off, "Jean, just go inside, we'll take everything in." 

Before Jean had any time to ask why, Hitch huffed air out her nose, "Why do we have to take everything in, can't he help?" And for once Jean wanted to agree with her. He didn't want her touching his stuff anyway.

"Oh my lord, I thought you two would've stopped by now. Just, do as I say! It's his weekend, after all, can't you just be nice and cut the attitude?" His mother snapped back, putting her foot down on the matter.

Jean didn't question it, especially not when even Hitch made a resigned sigh in defeat. If she wasn't gonna fight it, then he most certainly wasn't gonna be the one to stir up the most trouble.

However, as Jean got out of the car and looked at the big, red bricked house, he just wanted to shrink in his own clothes. Intervention or no, he knew he'd be forced to at least have a conversation with his Nana about the recent news of him coming out. 

She'd sent him a nice letter about how she understood, and wouldn't treat him any differently or whatever. But letters were always much different from having a face to face conversation, especially about something he knew that even his Nana couldn't relate to. 

After all, she was a reasonably wealthy enough white Catholic who'd married a soldier, bought a house in the suburbs, and popped out a few kids like she was supposed to. Jean was certain that whatever conversation was gonna come out of this trip, it wouldn't be much more tolerable than the talk he'd had with his own mother. 

He knew this, and he was even thinking of worse things to come, but he didn't hesitate in ringing the doorbell. The sooner, the better. He did wanna enjoy this trip, even if it was only a little bit.

A moment longer than expected, the door opened up, his Nana there to greet him with the same old smile. "Oh, you're early! And I see Hitch decided to join this time? Come in, come in," His Nana ushered him in, not making any comment about how he wasn't helping with the bags. Strange. 

"Yeah, I guess." Jean replied quietly, still upset that Hitch had to be there at all. "Goodmorning!" Jean quickly said with more positivity, not wanting to be the one to break the news that he's been misbehaving on the drive up. 

His Nana closed the door behind him and started walking down the hallway, "It is a great morning isn't it? But, a busy one! Now, I want you to come help me with something."

Jean followed after slipping off his shoes, not sure what to expect. The house really did feel so much different from Christmas time, even though a few Easter decorations were to be seen here and there, but not much. It was empty, sure, but it didn't feel that way. Just, more homey, really. Less artificial?

And walking into the kitchen, Jean could smell why. Cookie sheets and multiple mixing bowls littered the kitchen, including the little table in the corner! Clearly his Nana thought, what, a few hundred or so cookies would make this go over more smoothly?

"Uhh... what is all this?" Jean asked, confused even after coming to his own conclusion. 

His Nana laughed lightly, "I'm just not what I used to be. There's a bake sale that my church is throwing tomorrow for one of the local charities? And I promised to make all the cookies, but there's just so much to get done!" 

Jean went wide eyed, honestly a little shocked that his Nana not only waited last minute to do something she'd already committed to, and that she was having a hard time at all. "H-how many cookies do you have to make?" Fundraiser things like this could have anywhere from 50 to 500 people show up!

"Just a few hundred, we're selling the cookies in packs of 3!" His Nana announced, shaking her head as the laugh quieted from her voice. 

There wasn't much dough made by the looks of it, and there were only a couple of sheets of cookies that were baked on the counter.... It was almost _noon_! His Nana only had the one oven, what in God's name was she _thinking_!!?

Sure he'd help but, unless they were making cookies the size of a baby's palm there was no way they could make even 200 cookies.

"You look so skeptical," His Nana sighed, "Can you go down to the freezer and grab what's left?" She wasn't laughing anymore, but there was a humored tone to her voice that embarrassed Jean. What, was he missing something? 

"Ahh, okay then." Jean agreed, slowly backing out of the kitchen before turning around to head down the hallway. He opened the door right by the front entrance, which led to the basement and quickly went down the stairs. 

The basement was one of those fully renovated ones, and it worked as more of a guest floor than anything else. But his one goal was the back closet, which connected to the garage. 

Jean leaned up on his tippy toes, swiping a key off the doorframe. He used it to unlock and open the door, and he shivered a little at the cold. This was where the second freezer was.

Any gullible little kid might believe that the sweet old lady, who had a locked door with a mysterious freezer behind it might be holding the hearts of awful children who made the mistake of kicking up her garden in there. 

The memory of him spreading that little rumor to kids in his class back when he still lived in the house made him smile. It was probably why he had such trouble making friends but, whatever. He vaguely remembered being scolded for it at some point anyway.

What was _really_ in the freezer that was so important the door into the hall had to be locked? Cookie dough, of course. It surprised Jean, however, when he opened it up to see so much of the stuff, though. His Nana really must've been working around the clock to make so many bags of it.

Jean would've killed to be tall enough to reach the key when he was younger, but the prospect of eating gallons of raw cookies now only made him wanna barf. 

There was work to be done, though, and so he grabbed as many of the giant freezer bags of dough balls as he could carry, making sure to grab the ones marked with the oldest dates first. If there was ever an apocalypse, his Nana would be set for a while, that's for sure. 

No wonder his Nana thought it was so funny earlier, making it seem like she had a mountain of work to do, when in reality all she had to do was bake her stockpile of dough and be done with it. Jean didn't like being made a fool out of, but he could forgive her for something so harmless.

Jean noticed his mother and Hitch's shoes by the front door when he came back up, and peeked in the living room to see all the bags they'd brought on the couch. Maybe his Nana would rope them into helping bake too, but being in a hot bustling kitchen with Hitch was probably the fastest track to starting another fight.

"Uh, I didn't know how many you wanted me to get. There's a lot down there." Jean explained as he turned the corner into the kitchen, interrupting whatever conversation the ladies were having. 

His Nana walked over from across the room, "That's fine, dear, for now anyway. I hear you and Hitch have been making a ruckus today?" There was a slightly disappointed tone in her voice, but she started taking the freezer bags without so much as a scowl on her face. 

Jean shrugged, grunting at the accusation. It was true, yeah, but that didn't mean he had to say anything about it! What was his excuse? None, that's what.

"Kids these days!" His mother sighed, although the comment seemed to be completely ignored by everyone in the room. 

"And you even grabbed the oldest ones! Always so smart, Jean. Which reminds me," His Nana said as she set the bags on the counter, "Hitch was just talking about how her grades have been so well that she's getting an internship this summer!"

Jean was still too steamed from earlier to feign any kind of happy congratulations, so he tried to get out of the conversation entirely, "I'm gonna go put my stuff upstairs--"

"No, no, you're helping your grandmother with these cookies." His mother interrupted, her arms crossed. 

Hitch stared at her, "He can help after he unpacks his stuff y'know." Aha! An escape!

"You're both right, settle down," His Nana said, "It's the least you two can do to help after what I just heard." Jean wanted to wince at that, but stopped himself. Baking cookies was a dream punishment compared to the alternatives he'd experienced. 

Jean's mother gave a stare, probably not appreciating that her mother was more often than not taking someone else's "side" in these little matters. Maybe the weekend wouldn't be so bad after all. There wasn't a circle of fold up chairs with his distant family members in them waiting for him, so that was a good thing.

"So, will you have to travel very far for it? Are you car pooling?" Jean heard the questions continue on, and he was glad he could get out of the conversation. Not only did he not really care about Hitch, he also hated hearing about college stuff. Although he knew that, very soon, he'd be hearing a whole lot on the subject.

Jean hadn't brought much with him, just some essentials: A couple changes of clothes, his bathroom stuff, his laptop, and what was left of the cookies Sasha made him. His phone too but, well, _duh_. 

Needless to say, it was easy to carry everything up the stairs and into that dreadful little room he didn't think he'd be seeing again for a while. It didn't smell like anything special, but he was fine with that. It would be arrogant to assume his Nana'd roll out the red carpet every time they visited instead of just during big holidays. 

Wanting to stall in whatever small way he could, Jean decided to use the bathroom before going downstairs to help out. It'd give him a chance to check his phone for the last time he'd have in the next few hours, too. Even if it was his birthday weekend, he knew his Nana wouldn't want him on the phone the whole time. 

Of course, there was no helping him turning to glance at the wall of ornamental holy crosses in the bathroom as he walked in. His eyes were almost instantly drawn to the spot on the wall he'd purloined his makeshift dildo from during winter vacation, and he wasn't sure how he felt about the new cross that had replaced it.

Did his Nana even wonder where the cross had gone? Or had she just accepted it? The new cross was sheet metal, with some bible verse engraved on it. _Eeeuugh_ , the thought of using that as a dildo just made his ass clench.

Just as he lifted up the toilet seat, he saw a nightlight in the outlet, which was in the shape of Jesus' face. _Great_. "You're fuckin kidding me...." Jean sighed, because like he wanted to whip his dick out in front of Jesus after just thinking back on how he'd sinned with the holy cross? No!

He suddenly felt like using the downstairs bathroom, putting the seat back down awkwardly and turning away from the nightlight. Not wanting to look at his reflection either, Jean pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

It wasn't like he hadn't exhausted every social media anything the day before in his anxious scramble, but who knew? Maybe something super important happened in the past 15 minutes, while all his friends were at school...? 

Again; No. God, Jean almost wished someone at his school would start a fire so that maybe he could have something else to talk about when he got downstairs. Not a big fire just like, a little one in a trashcan maybe. 

He returned downstairs quickly, knowing there was no use in hiding in the bathroom any longer. Not unless he was eager for an ear full from probably his Nana and his mother. They were all busy having drinks, tea mostly, which made Jean's mouth go slant in disappointment. Really? No sod--

"I completely forgot," His Nana said as she saw Jean walk into the room, "But I bought some soda since we're celebrating your birthday. None of it's cold though, the boxes are in the dining room." So there _was_ a God!

Excitedly, Jean went to retrieve his sweet caffeine, "Thanks Nana, I'll just put in a cup with ice or something!" He said with equal excitement, not even stopping. He'd need them if he was going to be baking all day, not that he'd be doing too much work what with the rules regarding how close he was allowed to get to a hot oven.

Just as she said, there were a few cases of soda on the far wall of the dining room, and Jean was quick to open the top one. He pulled out 4 cans before returning to the kitchen, "Can I uh, I mean is there room in the fridge for these?" He asked, worried he might be hogging too much precious shelf space. 

"Do you really need to put that many in?" His mother asked after she took a sip of her tea. 

"It'll be fine, sweetheart, let him have them. I think there's some lettuce in there that needs to get thrown out anyway. Could you do that, Jean?" His Nana said, gesturing towards the trash can with her free hand. 

"So, what charity is all this for?" Hitch asked, about as interested in her tea as Jean would've been. 

"This time? Oh it's for the animal shelter; I can't believe they've been so good with rounding up the strays around town. It's getting to the point they've been releasing some cats back into the wild after spaying them and all that, they really need the money this year." His Nana explained, a small frown on her face. 

Jean couldn't understand how his Nana could dedicate herself so much to these charity events. It was one thing to donate money, but his Nana was old, and busy enough as it was! Participating in bake sales every other month or so for charity? It must've been back breaking work, especially if the turnouts required so many baked goods.

"That's horrible," Jean's mother gasped, "Don't they get any kind of state funding for that kind of thing?"

"No," His Nana answered with the shake of her head, "They're an animal hospital too so, they don't actually count as a charity by the government. They still get money from doing surgeries and treatments, and they have to pay the veterinarians, so they still have to pay taxes. It's absurd is what it is." 

Jean had like, no idea how charities or whatever worked, so he just stayed quiet as he got some ice out of the freezer to dump into the cup he'd grabbed. It did excite him, however, that the fundraiser would be for an animal shelter. 

"Hehh ha, maybe they'll like, give us a discount on a dog for helping them out!" Jean joked, although he did really like the idea. No one in the room seemed very amused, unfortunately. 

"We're not getting a dog." His mother said plainly. 

"Jean, the reason why it's called charity is that you don't profit from it." Was his Nana's mild but still scolding response. 

Hitch shrugged, "Eh, I mean... a coupon for like, pet food would be nice? They send 'em out in newsletters for free anyway." 

So... no puppy from his family then. Bummer, Jean was just about ready to start brainstorming names. Ahh, a little beagle mutt, named Badger! Ohhh, that would be so awesome! Oh, oh, man, now Jean _really_ wanted a dog!

"Don't pout, Jean, there'll be some dogs and cats at the fundraiser they'll let you pet! It's quite an event, they really do expect a lot of people to show up." His Nana added on more positively. 

Jean hadn't even realized his face drop into a frown, and quickly sucked in his cheeks, staring at his cup. God he must've seemed like he was being immature, but, puppies! Who didn't love puppies!? 

"Well, goodness gracious Mom, how much work do we have to get done today? We have to wrap the cookies up too, don't we?" Jean's mother asked, eyeing the freezer bags on the counter. 

In retrospect, a lot of this should've been done earlier. Then again, cookies tasted best as fresh as possible, so Jean could understand his Nana taking advantage of their visit to help with it all. Jean hadn't even thought about the wrapping part. His Nana did say _packs_ of 3 cookies.

"You two can do all the wrapping, can't you? You're so young, your hands are probably so much more nimble than us old people, right?" His Nana asked, looking to Jean and Hitch. 

Out of respect of course, neither of them said anything in protest. They kinda just stared at her, surprised. 

His Nana laughed again, and Jean hoped it was her making jokes again. "'Kids these days' is right, look at those two! Scared of some hard work, aren't they? You should tell them about that ah, what was it, dear? That bake sale for your 8th grade field trip? You were up for _days_ baking with all your friends!"

She was definitely serious, and suddenly Jean's fingers felt like they were cramping. 

Jean's mother nodded, "Ohhh, I remember. I think our feet hurt so much we didn't even want to go on that stupid field trip afterwards." 

The two of them laughed, leaving the second party awkwardly standing there unable to even drink their drinks. This really _was_ gonna be punishment, huh? 

"Hitch," His Nana started after she was finished, "You're in charge of the oven. I know you're not very fond of this kind of thing, but Jean can let you know when to take the cookies out of the oven."

"W-Wait," Jean interrupted, "You're gonna make us do this by ourselves?" He thought this was gonna be fun forced family bonding time or whatever!

"No, no, not completely!" His Nana corrected herself, waving her hand in emphasis, "But I've been working so hard on this, I do need to take a bit of a break from it. You just worry about prepping the pans, and getting the cookies onto cooling racks, alright?"

"Your mother and I are going to catch up and relax in the living room for a bit, and then we'll all go out to lunch." She finished, a confident smile on her face. 

Jean didn't even notice how it seemed this plan was news to his mother as well, but by the time he looked to her directly, she'd changed her demeanor. "Right, well, don't either of you start fighting." She stated, moving to walk out of the room with her tea in hand. 

Both Jean and Hitch just stood still, vaguely stunned, for a while even after the two older adults had left the kitchen. It was Jean who broke the silence, "This...." He didn't even know what to say.

"This sucks." Hitch finished for him, shaking her head. She sighed exasperatedly and set her tea down on the little table, looking side to side at the mass of baking mess everywhere. 

Jean walked over to the counter of cookie dough and picked up the oldest bag, "...Oatmeal, 350 degrees, 12 minutes. 'Guess we're makin' these first?" 

Hitch walked over to the counter beside him, and adjusted the oven as suggested, "Happy birthday, right?" She muttered. 

"Yeaah, no kidding...." Jean sighed, walking over to the corner table to grab box of parchment paper and a baking sheet. Honestly, baking was so much less fun when he knew he couldn't eat any of it afterwards. 

After he'd set a fitting sheet on the pan, he set it on the counter and went to go prepare another one. Meanwhile, Hitch was working on arranging the frozen dough balls on the first one. 

It stayed silent, until Jean was done with a third pan and Hitch had popped two in the oven. "...You could break my arm now, if that offer's still on." Jean sighed jokingly, looking into the oven as if that would make the cookies bake faster. 

"And leave all the work to me? Nah, I think I'm good." Hitch shot back, and while Jean didn't really know or care enough to know if she was completely serious, she didn't seem upset at him specifically. 

Jean thought that might be it, but Hitch surprised him. "Don't let it, like, get to you or anything." She mumbled, though the silence of the room was enough so that Jean could hear it.

"What?" He asked, not really understanding what she meant. 

Hitch sighed loudly, "I mean, the reason why we're all here. Don't let it freak you out." Were, was she talking about God or something and the meaning of life, because if so he was very confused and was definitely freaking out.

Jean stayed silent even as Hitch turned around to look at him, "Seriously? Look, I'm talking about you being _gay_ , alright? I'm supposed to be here for, for support or whatever. I guess I'm as 'gay' as they could get on short notice. Even though I couldn't care less."

 _Oh_. Okay, yeah, that definitely made more sense. Jean knew that, in the back of his mind, yeah. Totally. On the tip of his tongue, y'know?

"Thanks? I guess?" Jean responded, his eyebrows contorted in confusion and slight offense. Would it kill her to at least pretend to be nice about it? Fuck honesty for a hot minute, alright? He had no escape from the Hellhole that might be an intervention, at this point he'd like to just feel good about something. 

"Just-- Ah, whatever. Don't overthink it, that just makes them act worse." Hitch said, turning back to face the oven. 

The puppies tomorrow? Yeah, Jean was starting to think he might really need them.

* * *

Friday went off without major incident. No intervention, anyways, so a success. Being up almost all day making and wrapping cookies though didn't exactly make his week, though.

But, hey! There would be puppies! And, y'know really, how bad could it be? A bunch of friendly religious people passing through and talking about the cute animals? It'd be fine.

At least that's what Jean kept telling himself this morning, trying desperately to make himself look presentable in the mirror. "You look fine, you look fine, you look fine...." He hissed at his reflection over and over, patting his cheeks with his foundation to try to cover the redness of his recent acne issues.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him just a bit. Quickly recovering from his nerves though, he started to scrub the makeup off his hands under hot water. One of these days, he swore he'd buy some nice makeup remover in a little bottle he could just put in his pocket and take anywhere. 

Y'know, some day when he had a job, and more money, and didn't waste his funds on video games and canvases he knew he'd never use.

Jean shook the water off his hands when he was confident they were as clean as could be, then rubbed his hands on his pants a few times for good measure. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and was pleasantly surprised with what he saw.

It was a text from Marco, with an image of a UPS truck on a street that was strikingly familiar.

> "guess what just got here? :D" 

But Jean could be so petty, so cruel, and so he responded accordingly; 

> "A calendar?" 

It didn't take very long for Marco to text back, not that Jean was surprised. 

> " :( " 

Oh, he was so....

" _Jeany_ , come down here and help us bring the cookies into the car!" Jean's mother shouted from downstairs, cuing him to grab all his stuff and get out of the bathroom. He didn't bother doing things neatly, simply tossing his things onto the bed in his room before rushing out the door to do as he was told. 

A few hundred cookies, as his Nana put it, were enough on their own. But wrapped in little baggies and tied up nice and pretty? They took up so much more space, and Jean realized that they'd be driving to the event in 2 separate cars just so they wouldn't be squishing them all together. 

They were in plastic bins, that way they could just crack open a new one if they ran out of one flavor instead of having everything splayed out at once. It was smart, but then again, he figured his Nana had figured this out ages ago. 

"Now, all the cookies sell for the same price," His Nana was explaining as he picked up a bin. "1 dollar per bag of 3. No discounts, no coupons, and--" 

"Uh, that's great n' all, but why're you telling me?" Jean asked. He hadn't meant to interrupt but, no one else was in the room. 

His Nana stared for a moment, before giving him a smile, "Why, you're going to work at the cookie table with us." 

Jean froze, nearly dropping the bin of cookies. "What!? You didn't tell me that!" He shouted, his voice nearly cracking with how confused he was. "I-I'm not even qualified for that!"

"Sweetheart, I know," She said gently, giving Jean a gentle pat on the shoulder. "That's the idea, you know? If you ever get a job you can list you've done charity work and dealt with money before. 

"That and I think it'll be good for you to get into charity work now. You never know, Jean, you might really like this. I know you came here for your birthday, but this is like another present from me. If it gets too much for you, you can just stop." She continued, a glint in her eye that told Jean he was not getting out of this just yet, but that this also wasn't some kind of... weird force of religious hippie work onto him.

"And don't allow any sweet talking, either!" She added finally, shooing Jean away with her hands. Jean's face went red, shuddering at the thought of some girl trying to, flirt her way into a cheaper cookie. But then again, why would anyone? It was 3 cookies for a dollar. A _single_ dollar!

Whatever, Jean moved as fast as he could, embarrassed by his Nana's implications. So, he'd be taking cash from all the religious people, and probably not petting very many dogs.... Unfortunate, but, she did say he could stop at some point, right? So maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

The awkward conversation convinced Jean to drive with his mother to the event, leaving Hitch to go with his Nana. Was he sure a car ride with his mom would be less invasive? Not really, but his Nana was better at getting him to open up, and fuck he didn't wanna open up, damn it.

"Well, are you excited?" His mother asked as he buckled up. But, knowing it would be a gateway response to having a more in-depth conversation, Jean simply shrugged, not giving her anything to build off of before he decided to stare out the passenger side window.

Maybe his mother was finally learning when to let things go, or she was too exhausted to pry, who knew? Whatever it was, she didn't push any harder, sighing as she started the car and pulled out of the driveway. 

The drive over had been uncomfortably quiet, only the disgruntled muttering from his mother as she cursed bad drivers for one reason or another. Jean had been perfectly content staring out of whichever windows, somewhat enjoying the different landscape compared to home. 

If only he'd brought his sketch book, then he could keep at least some of it fresh enough in his memory by scribbling it down on a page or two. But there was never really time for arts and crafts when visiting his Nana, especially when his appreciation for things like hills wasn't an every day occurrence. 

Nerves settled back into him as the car slowed, and his mother parked on the side of the street. They were by a strip mall, signs and balloons indicating that a fundraiser was going on. Ah ha, so _that's_ why they needed so many cookies. Setting up a bake sale right next to a shopping center was like, a Girl Scout's dream! 

Or, that's what Jean assumed anyway. He hadn't been born lucky enough to be a part of all that jazz, but every summer he'd get the opportunity to gorge himself on Girl Scout cookies, if he'd been smart enough to save up enough money to get them by the time they started kicking down doors and robbing the good people of the world of their cash. And for what? For the best damn, fucking peanut butter cookies. 

"Jeany, are you even listening to me?" The shout of his mother's voice brought Jean out of his thoughts, and he turned his head to look at her. "Yeah." No, not yeah.

His mother shook her head, although she clearly wasn't all that annoyed. "No you weren't. Could you go find out which table we're meant to set up at?"

Did she not know him at all? Jean stared at his mother, eyebrows crunched together in his mild frustration. "Awh c'mon...! No, why do I have to?" Jean complained, imagining the awkward and poorly structured kind of sentences he would end up spitting out of his mouth. 

Jean could barely talk to cashiers, or call the pizza place back up again to tell them they screwed up his order. He didn't wanna make a fool out of himself in front of the people who were coordinating this whole event, not if he didn't have to! God, it was like his mom liked to embarrass him whenever they came up here.

"Alright, no need to panic. I'll go do it, but make sure you help with bringing the cookies out." His mother said before getting out of the car.

Jean followed shortly after, looking around and finding that his Nana had parked across the street a bit further up. He looked both ways before crossing, heading towards the car as he saw the trunk pop open. 

If anything, the weather seemed like it would be pretty okay. It was sort of cloudy, but not so much that it was gray skies for miles. The breeze wasn't too strong, either, so hopefully there wouldn't be any plates of food going flying across the parking lots.

"So, what do we do?" Jean asked his Nana once he was in range to talk normally. Jean had never really worked a bake sale before, and while it was a little exciting, the responsibility was also kinda intimidating. Especially since it was for charity, which meant if he screwed up, the _puppies_ would suffer.

Hitch was holding a bin of cookies in her arms next to the passenger side door, not really paying too much attention. If she were anyone else Jean might just think she was well experienced in working, but he knew she was nothing more than a free loader. 

"Grab a couple of bins and we'll go set up at one of the tables." His Nana said, not explaining enough for Jean's liking. But nonetheless he obeyed, carefully balancing some bins in his arms and following the other two across the street. 

Quite a few people were already there, arranging tables, chairs, and some... fencing? Then it struck Jean that it was probably where the animal shelter would be letting some dogs roam semi-free, and he smiled. 

Jean's mother walked over with another woman. She was taller, with graying black hair, and she had a weird kind of half-apron tied around her waist. Jean didn't think anything of it until his Nana met the woman with a hug, "Oh you've all gotten so much done already, are we late?" She asked with a lighthearted tone verging on laughter.

"There's still plenty to do, of course not! I see you brought some more help," The woman said, her voice very eager and positive. Jean never knew if it was rehearsed, or if that's just how chipper event organizers really were. Regardless, it embarrassed Jean.

She tilted her head to the side a bit to look at Hitch and Jean. "Hello there, my name is Beth, I'm one of the head organizers of this month's fundraiser. Thank you both for coming by to help!"

Beth pulled a couple of stickers out from her not-apron pocket and handed them to his Nana, "Your table's just over there, number 4." She turned her head again, "Make sure you two put those on, it helps loads!"

As she walked off with a wide smile and polite wave, Jean's mother held up a little stack of what looked to be flyers, "Information for everyone to pick up as they go. I can go get the rest of the cookies, if that's okay with you." 

"Sure," Jean's Nana said as she accepted the stack of paper, "Just don't forget you have to do real work today, too." She said matter-of-factly, a warm grin on her face. It made Jean feel a certain sense of triumph, knowing his mother wasn't a huge fan of charity work either. 

He was happy to place the bins down on the plastic table his Nana had led them to. It wasn't that the bins were really heavy, he just felt awkward with them stacked almost high enough to hide half his face. 

"We almost never have problems with theft at these occasions, but being at the strip mall I just want you both to make sure you keep a good eye on _this_." His Nana pulled a metal box out of her purse, setting it down on the plastic table before pushing a little key into it and unlocking it.

Inside there was some cash, divided into different sections by amount, with some small baggies of different coins to boot. The sight caught Hitch's attention finally, thought she didn't seem all that excited. Not that she should be, it wasn't her money. 

"This is just for anyone who only has coins, or large bills that you need to break down, alright? I even prepared a little guide for you two!" His Nana continued on, still in a careful, educating tone. She next pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse, and stuck it inside the lid of the metal lock box. 

Numbers lined the page, with guidelines and tips for how this specific fundraiser was supposed to be treated. It wasn't super extensive or complicated, but Jean was still surprised that his Nana had prepared it anyway.

"You both read over that, and put those stickers on your shirts. I need to go fetch someone." She hummed, walking away towards another group of adults who must've also been volunteers.

Jean decided to read through the paper a few times, as if he'd need to memorize it. There was a type of pressure he was under, and anybody else would say it was self-imposed. Like, a kind of anxiety that made him want to impress. But that's not how he saw it.

In his mind it just seemed like people were testing him, and he didn't want to impress them really, but more so prove that he wasn't incompetent. His test scores already did that, but, social gatherings were never his forte. Perhaps because it was the one thing in school they didn't grade students on.

The guidelines seemed super simple to him, though. No credit, debit, or checks. No refunds. No asking for recipes. Not harassing the volunteers about who they were/weren't supporting in the current fundraiser. 

If Jean somehow screwed this up, then he deserved all the shame, ridicule, and forced visits to church for prayer. Okay maybe not that last one, but, still. He'd be a dumbass to somehow ruin this. 

Not long after Jean had placed his small volunteer sticker onto his shirt, his Nana was returning with a couple of other volunteers: A man, and a younger woman. 

The man was most definitely religious with the way he dressed. Khakis with his navy button-up tucked into it, and a weirdly pristine, short beard? The only thing that would make it more obvious would be if he was carrying a bible under his shoulder. 

However, the woman didn't look like anything obvious one way or the other. It was almost like, you know, stereotyping people was kinda stupid anyway? But she seemed nice enough, her blond hair tied up in a pony-tail. And casual, too, just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The pair of adults couldn't be more different. 

Wow, individuality, what a wild concept! Jean might just have to work on the amount of judgement he made of complete strangers some other time. 

Instinctively, Jean wanted to back away or something, but he knew this was gonna be an introduction and so he braced himself as best he could when the group came over. 

"Hi there!" The man greeted rather loudly, holding out his hand. Both of which were to Jean's dismay, and noticing that Hitch was technically behind him, he awkwardly lifted his hand up to be the first to accept the handshake.

Jean practically flinched at the strong grip the man had, and he could tell that this guy used way too much hand lotion in his life. "Name's Carl, how are you?" Again, this guy, Carl, was very loud and enthusiastic in an invasive way much like that of a dog. 

Luckily, or maybe, unluckily? Whatever, Jean didn't have the chance to respond as Carl let go and shook Hitch's hand, "So glad you could make it," Carl continued, "Sandra here talks all about you kids, you should visit more often!" 

Oh and what a sight it was, Hitch staring in awkward discomfort as she pulled her hand away. It was weird though, for Jean to hear anyone refer to his Nana by name. To him it was always Nana, and to his mom it was always, well, "Mom" or some variation of that. Jean wondered who this guy was to apparently have "heard so much" about him and, for God knows why, Hitch. 

Carl focused his attention on Jean again, lightly pointing at him, "You know I didn't catch you at church back in December. Saw you in line for confessional though, good to see you're mom's kept the love of God in your heart.

Jean was perishing. "U-uhhh...." He breathed out unintentionally, frozen with shame and discomfort, awkwardly smiling to hide his internal screams for mercy. Oh, God, he begged for mercy. 

" _Carl_ ," His Nana sighed, a warning in her voice. "Don't push." 

And as if he were suddenly reminded that he left the oven on, he practically snapped upright, eyebrows raising, "Ohh! Right, right. Don't wanna go suffocating the kids now, but," And he pulled a couple of cards out of his pocket. Why the hell did everyone here have shit in their pockets to hand out?

They were cards, and he handed them to Hitch and Jean, "You'll know where to come when you visit later on down the road, you know, when you're adults and have cars." They were like business cards, but for the church his Nana went to. It had the name, address, phone numbers....

Was this guy for real? Was this _actually_ happening? All Jean could do was nod silently, pocketing the car without any possibly offensive hesitation. 

The woman chuckled a bit, and Jean couldn't tell if it was real or fake. She didn't attempt to shake any hands, her own folded in front of her, "I'm Nancy. I actually work with the Forever Homes animal hospital. I help with organizing events like these, newsletters, a bit of dog training, stuff like that." 

Short and to the point, Jean needed that. Fuck, everyone needed that. 

"And, haha, I ah, don't mean to shill but I'd like you to have _my_ card as well. You know, in case you need a dog trained, a cat's claws clipped?" She somewhat awkwardly explain, handing out a couple of cards that, _what do you know_ , came from her pockets.

The cards were accepted just as quickly and quietly, but Nancy wasn't done talking yet. "The animals'll be here soon, you both can come pet them on your breaks if you want. Maybe even take one home, tell your friends about 'em?"

Yeesh, she really was shilling. Oh well, Jean could appreciate it when it was about shelter animals, and he was definitely looking forward to those dogs. 

His Nana smiled, "Well, we are celebrating Jean's birthday this weekend, but I don't think he's ready for a pet right now. School and all, you remember what that's like, so hectic!" She explained with an expert politeness.

But that earned Jean a strong pat on the shoulder from Carl, "That's right, you just turned, what, 17? You're practically a man now! Hope you're not having too much trouble balancing school with girls, hahaha!" 

Jean would have loved to jump head first into the storm drain on the street that wasn't all that far off. And he could feel his face twist even more as his emotions did a little unsophisticated jig right off and into the deep darkness of Hell.

Why were people like this? Was this a guy thing, was this like, what adult men thought was acceptable? Jean was grateful that this stranger wasn't part of his family, and so therefore didn't have the knowledge to mention that he was gay, but this was still pretty fuckin' ridiculous!

Even Hitch looked unsettled, and no doubt she was hoping that Carl wouldn't ask her about her love life too. She was older, after all, if not by very much. 

"My wife Brenda's over at table 7! She's got brownies and blondies, isn't that funny?" Carl laughed, returning his hand to his side. "You know the last time something like this was going on, Sandra here signed up for the brownie table before Brenda could; It drove her mad! Brenda's Brownies just has such a good ring to it, you know?" 

There was just no end to any of this, was there? 

"I still think my brownies have the better kick to them," Jean's Nana intervened, "But I can't deny she's got the best blondies on this side of the country. Tell her we should split it next time, 50/50, won't you?" 

Ohhh, ohhh God really was real. Bless his Nana's soul! Carl nodded and gave a wave, walking back the way he'd came, "Oh no, I think she's still gonna fight you for it! You all come by the table later on and taste her brownies, you'll see!" 

Nancy turned her head and looked around the area, "I need to call my GM and make sure they're headed to the right place, but really you should come see the dogs later at least. Some of the older ones really need the attention." And with that, she'd pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and walked away herself. 

Jean _visibly_ relaxed, although he was still intensely weirded out by the forced socialization. Everyone thought he drank at that one party for some reason, well, _this_ was probably the only kind of social gathering that made him wanna drown the noise away with alcohol. 

He had nothing in common with these people, like, at all. If this was what he'd have to put up with all morning and afternoon, he was gonna have a stroke. 

"Why don't you two go relax a bit? Looks like they're setting up the drinks at table 1, I know they brought tons of juices and waters for everyone to have." His Nana suggested, understanding how overwhelmed this event must've been. 

Jean nodded without even realizing it, as if he were on auto-pilot. Hitch kindly fucked off towards the aforementioned table, as if she'd been in a cage and was just now being let loose. His Nana, on the other hand, went around behind their table to start tidying things up.

His mother returned, carrying a few more bins of cookies, and placed them onto the table. "Mom, you really shouldn't be leaving the trunk open. I know this is charity but some people are cruel." She nagged, although her voice was gentle enough you could tell she was genuinely concerned.

It was then, as Jean saw just how many cookies were in so few bins, that he realized he'd definitely need this short break if he planned on staying sane. However when he pushed his hands into his various pockets, he realized his phone wasn't on him. 

"Hey did you see my phone in the car?" Jean asked, looking around as if he'd dropped it or something. 

"No, but you can go check." His mother replied, setting her car key-chain down on the table. Jean took it almost immediately, and just as quickly did he make his way back over to the car. He opened the passenger side door and looked in, but, then he started to think about it and what he'd done that morning.

He got up, he changed his clothes, and then he went to the bathroom to do his daily routine stuff.... "Oh, _fuck_!" Jean hissed, remembering how he rushed, and how after he went back into the room to put his toothbrush stuff away, he'd tossed his phone down with it. 

"Mother _fucker_ , you're so stupid!" He growled, hitting his forehead with his fist, a new sense of disappointment washing over him. There really _was_ no escape for him, at least not until the dogs and such arrived, maybe.

 

The dogs and other animals did in fact come, but Jean had no time to go see them. They had to set things up properly first, and by then the stores were opening up and shoppers were beginning to stop by. 

It was slow at first, and Jean was glad to let Hitch deal with most of the customers while either his Nana or his mother supervised from the sidelines. Jean couldn't look people in the eyes for very long, though, and was shy to the prospect of small talk. 

He must've seemed so rude, considering these people must've all been the kind of overly friendly time wasters that Jean was all too familiar with. And he feared the dreaded questions about, credit cards, or refunds, or the classic "Can't I just have 1 cookie of each flavor?" because they can't stand the idea of spending 2 extra dollars. 

The over reacting Jean was doing made him peckish, and he decided that the chocolate chip cookies had been mocking him for far too long to be allowed to sit there uneaten. He grabbed a bag from the table and pulled it over to himself, eager to get the sweet taste of what he'd worked semi-hard on the day before.

"Ah ah!" He heard, before his hand was gently slapped. 

Startled, Jean felt as if he broke his own neck to turn and see who'd assaulted him. "Wh-what!?" He asked, alarmed to see it was his Nana. 

"You have to pay for them first, it _is_ a charity event." His Nana explained, nudging the bag of cookies back into its place. 

"Oh... right, sorry." Jean mumbled, embarrassed, before looking around to make sure no one had caught the flub. He rummaged through his pants and pulled out the petty wad of cash he'd secured in them earlier, placed a dollar in the lock box, and pulled his precious cookie bag open even faster than he had before. 

Hitch was giving him a smug look, like she was relishing in the fact that Jean had gotten in trouble over something she must've thought was so simple. But, how was he supposed to know when that hadn't been on the guideline paper!?

Still, as Jean bit into the first cookie, his mouth watered in delight. None of them had a chance to try the cookies yesterday, and while they weren't fresh, soft, ooey and gooey, they were still crisp enough on the outside, and buttery enough on the inside to make him quite happy.

 

The lighter Jean's pocket got as he snuck cookies into his mouth as if he were some criminal, the less frazzled he felt. They'd had breakfast, but Jean was convinced something about having lots of sugar in him was helping ease his nerves. 

Or at least he would have hoped they could stay that way, had every person who wanted a cookie was a regular adult who didn't ask him too much. 

A little girl who couldn't be much older than 6 approached the table, and Jean was hoping she'd be interested in talking to Hitch over him, but he wasn't that fortunate. "Are these better than Girl Scout cookies?" She asked, an innocently skepticism in her voice that was more than likely unintended to be rude. 

"Uh...." Jean blinked, and looked to Hitch as if she'd give him an answer. "Are they?" The girl repeated not long after, her hands in fists. What, was this a Girl Scout doing some covert investigating? 

"Well, do Girl Scouts have chocolate chip, oatmeal, or...." Jean paused and looked at the third variety of cookies they had; sugar, and swallowed. "Well do they have those?" He tried to save himself, trying to sound as sure of what he was saying. 

The girl's mouth slanted to the side in a pout, "No." 

Jean nodded, "Then yes." He loved girl scout cookies, but he was sure if his Nana wanted to beat out some girl scouts she'd be able to just by the advantage of the cookies being fresher. 

The girl looked like she was thinking, staring at the huge amass of bags on the table. However she quickly lifted her closed hands and opened them up onto the table, releasing tons of coins. Oh. So that's why her hands were like that.

"Can I have chocolate chip, please!?" She exclaimed, a hilarious look of determination on her face. But Jean held back any snickering, and just started to pull the coins forward to count them. 

Jean wanted to sink into the ground as he noticed that the girl was 9 cents short, and he looked around a bit before speaking, "Cookie bags are a dollar, annnd you're short a few cents. Do you have any more money? Just a dime?" Hopefully this girl had a parent or something nearby who'd realize their little human was taking too long, come over, and just hand him a bill instead. 

The girl frowned, pulling her hands off the table and nervously bringing them to her sides, "That's all I have...." She muttered pathetically, looking back at the pile of cookies longingly. 

God, Jean felt bad. This poor kid looked like she was about to burst into tears! Where were her parents!? What if she _did_ start crying and then everyone thought he'd been an asshole!? "Y'know what, it, it's fine, okay here," Jean said hurriedly, picking up a bag of the desired cookies and placing it at the edge of the table.

" _No_ ," Hitch butted in, "Everyone has to pay full price." She didn't look bitter or smug, and so Jean was hoping she wasn't being cruel just to try to get this girl to cry. 

The girl looked so conflicted, confused, but ultimately still quite upset as she looked up at the two adults who were probably ruining her morning. 

"Oh, for _fu_ \-- I mean, fine! Fine, fine, I got it!" Jean stammered, panicking as he realized he nearly swore in front of some little girl, at a public fundraiser, with a bunch of religious people around to hear him. 

He pulled another dollar out of his pocket and placed it in the lock box, picked up all the change off the table, and handed it back to the little girl. "There you go have a nice day!" He said quickly, wanting nothing more than to kill the awkward situation without it blowing up in his face.

The girl's eyes lit up, and she accepted the change back as best she could while also trying to grab the bag off the table. Once she had managed to hold the bag to her chest, and secure the coins in her fists once more, she turned and darted away, giggling with giddy. 

Ignoring the possibility that he'd just been conned by a first grader somehow, Jean turned to glare at Hitch. "Really? It was 9 cents!" He huffed, trying not to sound or look as embarrassed as he was. 

"And? It's for _charity_ , if we can't have free cookies, little girls can't have 9 percent off cookies!" Hitch tried to justify herself, shaking her head. 

While she did have a point, he didn't think the dogs would die over 9 pennies. But he chose not to fight her on it, sighing. At least he'd made someone happy, right?

 

Jean was grateful for the chairs they'd been able to sit on while they worked, otherwise he was sure he'd be getting a lot less enjoyment out of doing this. As fun as he could have doing charity work outside for hours. 

Although as much as he knew he'd rather be doing something else, he didn't think this was all that bad. It was nice out, after all, and he wasn't pouring his life story out to customers no but, at this point he'd been doing better at actually talking. 

So many people were passing through, and with far more than just cookies to sell, Jean didn't have to deal with everyone. It was like being inside a regular mall, just, talking to people every few minutes once they realized brownies and bagels didn't seem as appetizing as cookies. 

Hitch was dealing with another customer while someone else who must've been meandering down the line of tables, made his next stop at the cookies. Jean decided not to immediately say anything, not wanting to get into a hard-sell conversation with someone who might not've been that hungry anyway.

They looked around Hitch's age, and Jean figured they must've been a local. Did anyone who _wasn't_ religious still wear khaki pants on the weekends? No, Jean didn't think so. He kinda reminded Jean of Armin, in that "Yes I look dorky, no don't talk to me" kind of way.

Suddenly they picked up two bags of cookies, examining them. It sparked confusion in Jean, even if he knew no one was gonna steal cookies. "Can I help you?" He asked, also looking at the two bags of cookies. 

"...Which of these is better?" The man asked after a moment, setting the cookies back down. 

"Oatmeal." Jean answered almost immediately, gently poking a bag of said cookies. 

They didn't look very impressed, leaning forward and to the side some to get a better look at the one flavor he hadn't been holding before. "Really?" 

Jean blinked, unsure of what this guy wanted. "I think so? Chocolate chip's good too. They're all good" He insisted with a kind of half shrug. Some people hated oatmeal, so who knows, maybe this guy wasn't gonna like it and then get upset.

"There are no refunds, huh?" The man asked quietly, looking at Jean.

Uncomfortable with the eye contact Jean looked down at the array of cookies, pretending he was checking over them or something. "Uhh, nope. No returns, either. Sorry." Jean knew people could be picky but it seemed like this guy didn't even know if he wanted anything at all to begin with.

"I'll just," The man started, pulling a wallet out of his pocket. "I'll take this one." He decided, leaving a dollar on the table and grabbing a bag of sugar cookies before turning to walk away.

"Thank--" Jean began to say, stopping only because the man turned back around, pulled another couple dollars out of his wallet, and then grabbed the other two flavors of cookie before giving a lopsided smile and walking away. 

Jean decided not to question it, just putting the cash where it belonged and hoping the guy didn't come back in 10 minutes demanding a refund. 

His mother came up beside them, placing 2 cans of soda on the table, "Well haven't you two been working hard?" She asked with a smile, opening up a third can of soda for herself. 

What Jean hadn't been expecting was for her to lean in and chatter in hushed tones, "That boy was handsome, wasn't he?" She was just audible enough for Jean to understand, and he practically jumped away in embarrassment.

"Mom, _no_! Stop!" He hissed, wanting to list a million reasons why she was being ridiculous. The guy was probably super religious, not gay, 3 or so years too old for him, and a fucking nerd. Not at all what Jean was interested in by a long shot! 

His mother only laughed though, moving her free hand to mess with Jean's hair, "There's nothing wrong with you admitting a boy is cute, Jeany."

Jean smacked her hand away, "Ugh, no! Stop, just cut it out!" He grumbled, his face red as a beet with embarrassment. This wasn't a match-making service, it was a charity fundraiser! How dare she even have the nerve to make jokes like that, if they were even jokes.

 

Finally, fucking _finally_ , Jean was let off of the charity work for the day. It hadn't been many hours, and he'd been given short breaks, but Jean was just dying to go see all the dogs! 

It was his first stop once he'd pulled his volunteer sticker off and thrown it in the trash, and he really wished he'd had his phone so he could take pictures to remember all the dogs by. And god there were just so _many_ of them in the mini fenced in area, it was hectic in every good way. 

Jean couldn't even feel out of place, with kids and adults alike crowding around the area with all of the shelter workers showing a few people in at a time to pet the precious puppies. There were some tables off to the side with cats in cages, but it was obvious who stole the show here. 

He didn't mind waiting in the line, what with most of the dogs rushing to the edges of their confinement to beg and whine to be pet anyway. A cute black dog that was some kind of mutt mixture Jean couldn't piece together only wanted to lick people's hands, probably because it could smell the different foods everyone had been eating. 

There were signs taped everywhere around the animals expressly saying not to feed them, and that things like chocolate could seriously harm them. A bake sale may not have been the smartest move for this kind of fundraiser, but, whatever. 

Jean was absolutely ecstatic when it was his turn to be allowed into the area with all the dogs, and remembering what the woman Nancy had said earlier, he turned to the current volunteer letting him, "Do you have any uh, older dogs?" He asked sheepishly, hoping he wasn't putting too much work on her.

"Oh! Yes, actually we do." She responded with surprise, her eyebrows raised and her smile widening. "I'll go bring one over, any preference?" 

Now it was Jean's turn to go wide eyed. He could... _choose_!? "Ahh, u-uhm, one that likes belly rubs?" He asked, not sure what she really meant. Did she want size, breed, age, blood type? Jean just wanted to pet a lonely little puppy, that's all. 

"That's a good choice!" The volunteer laughed joyfully, stepping out of the enclosed area and towards the parking lot, where many vans brandishing the shelter's logo on the side were parked. 

It nearly crumbled Jean's soul to think there were some poor old puppies locked up in there for hours. Then again, it was probably what they were used to. 

Not long after, the volunteer came back, a medium sized brown and whit dog on a leash following close behind her. The dog, far too large to be lifted up and over the fencing, was carefully let inside before its leash was handed to Jean, "This big girl is Stacy, she's about 8 years old and I promise, she _loves_ belly rubs." The woman explained, leaning over and scratching Stacy on the head.

Jean was all too nervous and excited about it, leaning down to scratch behind her ears. The volunteer worker didn't stop him, exiting the fence again, "We're not sure what kind of breed she is, but she looks like she's got a bit of Brittany or Labrador in her. You can just take her on over there and unhook the leash if she wants to run around at all." 

This was absolutely perfect, and Jean didn't even stop to say more than a short thanks before walking to a less crowded area while those still around and in line focused more on the younger, more active dogs.

Once Jean had unhooked Stacy from the leash, she became increasingly affectionate. She too was interested in the smell on Jean's hands, although there was nothing really left for her to get at, much to her obvious dismay. 

Stacy reminded Jean of Sprinkles, that corgi looking dog which had been the only thing he _did_ remember form that dreadful party months ago. But Stacy was larger, and far more laid back and eager for the wondrous belly rubs Jean was all too ready to give.

"Who's a sweetheart?" Jean asked, somewhat quietly so that he wouldn't look silly in front of all these complete strangers who not only didn't care about him but were more than likely to act the exact same way as him. Couldn't look foolish in front of such important pillars of the community, right?

"Having fun?" Jean looked up to see his mother standing on the other side of the fencing with some other people, and he immediately shuffled to the side so that she could see Stacy better.

"Mom, look! Her name is Stacy, and she's quiet, and she's not biting me, and, and--" Jean tried to explain in happiness, only to be interrupted by his mom, "No, Jean, I told you we can't get a dog." She sighed gently, a polite smile plastered to her face nonetheless. 

Jean frowned, "But--! Mom, please, look at her! No one's gonna adopt her, she's 8! I'll walk her every day, honest." He stressed, rubbing Stacy's belly as he spoke. Literally any dog would be fine, but it was sad to think about how such an old dog might be stuck in a cage for the rest of its life. 

"Don't you 'but' me, mister, I know it's probably a sweet dog, but we just can't have one, I'm sorry," She continued firmly, leaning over the fencing slightly to pet another dog that was looking for attention.

"It's my birthday." Jean whined, giving his mother, ironically, puppy dog eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally give in after all these years! 

His mother, unfortunately though, shook her head, "Your birthday was Thursday, sweetheart. Don't get too attached, just have fun with all these nice dogs! I'm sure someone will take that one home." Jean knew what she really meant. Stacy was old and so she would probably not last very long, so getting attached either way wasn't going to do well for Jean. 

Jean huffed and turned, looking back down at the happy dog, "She's heartless." He whispered. "But you're not, are you? No you're not, you're so _cute_!" He continued on, grabbing a squishy toy that was somewhat damp and giving it to her to chew on. 

Maybe his mother already had a puppy ready to go as a surprise birthday present for later, but if not, Jean would settle for petting all the other dogs at the fundraiser. Toady was turning out to be a damn good day,

* * *

After they left the fundraiser, Jean had been completely exhausted. Figuring there wouldn't be any kind of birthday celebration after so much work, he'd resigned to his closet of a room to take a nap. Would he ever work at a bake sale again? Probably not. Did he have some experience with putting money in a box that he could jot down on his resume? Sure.

He hadn't meant to sleep for very long, but he was startled awake when he heard loud knocking on the door. Groggy and quite honestly pissed off, Jean sat up and stretched, " _Ohhwwh_ , what!?" He yawned loudly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The door opened up, letting light in that blinded Jean for a moment. When his eyes readjusted his face crinkled up in offense as he noticed it was Hitch who had the audacity to wake him. 

"Get up, you've been sleeping for way too damn long and we need help cleaning up. Your mom wants you to start with putting the bins away in the dining room." Hitch barked at him, turning and walking away afterwards. 

Jean groaned, rubbing his eyes to help himself wake up more. Well, his sleep schedule was probably fucked, but he had another day to fix it. Or rather, fixing it being more like ruining it in just a slightly more workable way. 

He picked up his phone and unlocked it, cursing himself for not charging it before he crashed. There were a few unread messages across all matter of communication.

> "cookies?????" 

Sasha's not so subtle way of asking Jean if he'd shared the cookies with anyone else yet. Jean had been planning on hoarding the cookies for himself, but, he might leave some for his Nana tomorrow morning. If there were any left, anyway. 

> "what's in here I wonder? ;)" 

It was another text from Marco, with another image. This time it was a big present bag, with tissue paper poking out of the top. This was the shopping equivalent to a sext and Jean was frustrated with knowing he wouldn't be able to find out what his supposed late present was until tomorrow at the earliest.

The third message he'd planned on checking wound up being from Eren, and Jean snorted as he ignored it. There were a few times where Eren had mistakenly messaged Jean something, and whether or not it was by mistake was always up for debate, but Jean stopped caring to decipher them years ago. 

Jean felt bad though, for not having stayed up to help with the immediate cleaning that probably got done once they returned to the house. He hated cleaning but, he'd only screwed himself and his family over by delaying it with a nap. 

He pulled his pants off and changed into his last pair he'd brought, remembering how he was laying in the grass with a bunch of dogs slobbering over him. It'd be kinda counter productive is he wound up rubbing dirt and lord knows what onto the walls and furniture.... Like with the bed he'd slept in, and would have to sleep in for another night. 

"Fuck." Jean muttered as he got up, making a mental note to ask if his Nana could change the bedding out for him. 

It was almost 7 p.m., and so he wondered what as for dinner. Jean would have to get a soda or something to wake him up faster. And maybe--

"Happy Birthday!" 

The lights in the dining room turned on as soon as he walked in, and for the second time that day he'd been blinded. But he quickly blinked the pain away, and his eyes were drawn to a big chocolate cake with candles sticking out of them on the table. 

There was a balloon. A singular balloon, _but_ , it was one of the big foil ones that said "Happy Birthday!!!" on it, so it was special enough for the occasion.

A few presents lines the table as well, wrapped neatly in different colored paper. In the room were a few more people than who should've been in the house to begin with. He sort of, kind of recognized them from Christmas time, and he twitched in anguish as he realized he'd be nagged for forgetting them already. 

Embarrassed, Jean simply stood there with an awkward smile he was desperately trying to force away. The lights turned off again, though, and his mother ushered him forward, "Come on, you have to blow out the candles!"

Awkwardly, Jean sat down at the table in front of the cake. He noticed his mother about to open his mouth, but he jumped the gun first, "No singing!" He pleaded, his voice still a bit hoarse from having just woken up. 

"What? That's no fun!" The man said, his voice more raspy than even Jean's had been. Jean vaguely remembered him being his great uncle something or other whose name started with a P. He remembered him being a smoker.

"If he wants to be a party pooper, just let him. When he's older he'll regret it!" One of the women said, though Jean didn't recognize her one bit. She had the dirty blonde hair that ran so much through this side of his family, and so she was even less identifiable. 

Jean's mother shook her head with a sigh, "Oh well, just blow out the candles and make a wish then sweetie. You know I love chocolate." She finished with a more pleasant tone. 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jean opted to close them instead, leaning forward and thinking of a decent wish. Jean may not have been consistently religious, but he was definitely superstitious about birthday cakes, eye lashes, shooting stars, and finger crossing. Just a bit. 

It didn't take long for him to think of what he wanted, and although it might've been obvious as to what Jean would've wished for, he definitely had bigger, more long term goals in mind. 

Without much of a second thought, he inhaled and blew out as much air as he could without straining himself, peeking out of his eyes to make sure he was actually "aiming" at all 17 candles that decorated the cake.

A chorus of clapping filled the room once the candles were out, and the lights were turned back on. Jean opened his eyes completely and stood up, grabbing the serving knife so he could cut the first piece for himself. He grinned, elated to see that the inside was yellow. 

Jean grabbed a paper plate and fork off the stack on the table, slapped his cake piece onto it, and left the knife on the platter where the cake was missing its slice. He tried not to make eye contact with his other family members as he sat down, but desperately wracked his brain to trying remembering their names.

Not everyone even had a piece yet, though, before people started talking. "One year left of being a kid, how's that feel?" The woman he couldn't put a name to said, sitting at the other side of the table. 

Jean shrugged, shoving a bite of the cake in his mouth. The woman continued though, "Oh, don't tell me you don't remember me?" Fucking _yikes_. Jean wasn't ready for ridicule. 

She seemed to sense Jean's fears, "It's been a few years, no hard feelings. I'm Heather, your somethingth cousin? You remember my dad though, right?" Jean looked up and saw her turn to the man Jean had assumed was one of his many uncles. 

"Of course he remembers me! I was here last Christmas." The man said, laughter in his voice. 

Jean looked back down at his plate in embarrassment, hoping he could avoid the obvious truth to it all. He didn't really bond that well with most of his distant family, not on his mother's side, not even his dad's side. He just didn't see them enough, and they just weren't his kind of people. So there was never really much reason for him to remember.

"It's Paul." Heather said quickly, and Jean looked up to see her shaking her head at her father. 

"Y'know I'm surprised Amy didn't make it, she can't be that busy!" The third and hopefully final mystery family member commented, before turning over to Jean, "In case you really don't remember anyone, I'm Danielle, I'm closer to Hitch's little spot of the family?" She explained quickly. 

Jean kinda remembered her? She was supposedly named after his Nana's husband, not that he could remember how far away Hitch and her immediate family were to him. Close enough to be named after her, what, uncle? Cousin? God, Jean couldn't figure this shit out. He'd studied his family tree before but didn't take to actually memorizing the damn thing.

That was when Jean noticed, however, that Hitch wasn't in the room. She probably didn't wanna celebrate his birthday, the asshole. Whatever, she'd just ruin it anyway. 

"I heard Amy's kids are sick, 'went swimming thinking the weather was warm enough for it." His Nana explained, sitting down with everybody else as she got her own small slice of cake. 

Danielle frowned, shaking her head. "That's awful... those kids are so stupid, I swear one of them's gonna die before they hit 20." 

Jean nearly choked wanting to laugh at that, but bit and chewed up the flesh in his mouth as best he could to kill the smile on his face. 

His Nana nodded ever slightly, "Oh, they'll learn eventually. Raising two kids is hard work, you know." 

"I prefer cats, thank you very much." Danielle said smugly, popping another piece of cake into her mouth. Yep, Jean could definitely see how closely related she must've been to Hitch. 

Paul looked to Jean's mother, "What about him, hm? Has he stirred up any trouble since last year? Not playing around with any young ladies' hearts I hope-- Sorry, I mean, young men's hearts. No mind games, I hope?"

Jean wished he'd've been able to choke on his cake that time, but he didn't have any in his mouth at the time and so he just... froze. He almost forgot that probably everyone on his mom's side knew that Jean was gay. 

His mother had a wavering smile, "I don't think so, but you know, there was a very cute boy at the fundraiser today, and I think he liked him!" She had an optimistic tone, but it was obvious she had no idea what to say about the situation. 

Jean quickly went for more cake, trying to ignore the subject of his sexuality at all costs. Luckily his Nana pushed forward one of the wrapped presents, "It's his birthday, give the poor boy a break, would you?" 

The room went silent for a moment, like they'd all been told they'd be sleeping outside for the night. But Jean's mother cleared her throat, "Right... Jean you should open all your gifts!"

Heather spoke up, "This was short notice, so we weren't sure what to get you." 

Jean's Nana made a gasp that was verging on that of a scoff, "Nonsense! I told you it was fine, we're all just glad you could come." Well, maybe Jean wasn't so glad but it wasn't like he was about to complain.

He pushed his plate to the side and pulled over, of course, the biggest gift he'd received. Taped onto it was an orange envelope, most certainly holding a card in it. Jean opened it, and being self conscious and embarrassed about reading it allowed, he silently looked it over.

> To Jean, my wonderful son. I know that you are one step closer to becoming the smart, intelligent man I've raised you to be. Independence has always been so important to you, and one day soon you may not need me to have control in your life anymore. Always know that I will love you no matter where life takes you or how it surprises us. I'll always be here for you, and of course for whichever man you choose to spend the rest of your life with some day. Love, Mom. 

_Bleehhhhhk_!

"Well, who's it from?" Paul asked, his tone making it hard for Jean to understand if he was annoyed or just overall excited.What 50+ year old would enjoy attending the 17th birthday party of their... grand-nephew's?

Jean quickly closed the mushy card up and slid it back into its envelope, but pointed to his mother soon after in response. 

"He doesn't read cards." His mother said quietly, a knowing look on her face. 

Jean began to tear open the long rectangular present, and his eyes widened when he saw enough of the box to realize what it was. "Oh my _god_!" He gasped. 

"Do not use the lord's name in vain." His Nana scolded, although Jean didn't think to apologize as he tore the rest of the paper off his box to reveal the gift he was so pleased to get. 

"It's an easel!" He exclaimed, looking over it with glee. 

"Annnd what do you say?" His mother asked, an expectant look on her face. 

"I-it's awesome!" Ehn! Wrong! "And thankyou." He quickly tacked on afterwards, shrinking back in his chair in shame. Everyone else however, thought his reaction was funny. Not a single one of them was grinless, much to Jean's embarrassment. 

This was not the birthday party from Hell Jean had been prepared for, and he couldn't be more pleasantly surprised by that fact as he moved to open more of his gifts.

 

Jean was happy with how the day'd turned out, even with the occasional awkward situation. He loved his gifts, with what few there were, too. Some clothes, and a large jar of one of his favorite Yankee Candle scents: Sage and Citrus, from his mother. His Nana had gotten him another Visa, one with an entire 100 on it to spend. 

You'd think the fun would stop there, but no. His Nana had prepared dinner, too. It was a tomato, beef, and pasta stew, and it had been ready to go long before Jean started opening presents. 

Better yet was that by now, his few relatives who he might remember better next time, had left. They had lives to get back to, and Jean was perfectly happy to be away from the loud, invasive conversations they liked to have. 

It was quiet, and Jean was happy to work on his second bowl of stew alone while his mother and Nana worked on the dishes. Hitch didn't even make appearance until the other guests left, and while Jean was happy that she'd been away, it was an unfortunate reminder to see her hang around for a bit to eat dinner afterwards. 

"Are you almost done with that?" His Nana asked from behind, causing Jean to turn his head in acknowledgement. 

"Mmnoh." Jean slurred, food only half chewed in his mouth.

"I didn't think so," She chuckled, sitting down in the chair next to him. Once Jean was done chewing and swallowing his mouthful, she continued, "I know tonight has been a struggle for you." 

Jean looked to her, expressionless, cautious of what this conversation might entail. "They just don't understand how to treat you, but believe me, they care. And we do love you." She said, patting Jean's hand gently. 

"...And? It's not like you know anything." Jean mumbled back, pulling his hand under the table and twisting his fork around in his bowl.

"Sweetheart," His Nana stressed, a sly smile on her face, "People have been gay for longer than I've been alive. Some of us just didn't get raised the same way, and people like your mother, your aunt, the whole lot of them just aren't mature enough yet to see that."

Jean didn't know how to take that, and just shrugged some more, "Well why didn't you raise my mom to 'see' it, huh?" There was a hint of venom in his voice, proof that he still resented his mother's inability to realize he was gay. There was of course, leniency with people like his Nana, who while close to him, didn't see him every single day.

For once, his Nana really snapped at him, "I know you're still a boy, but don't go blaming me and your mother for everything!" It shocked Jean, and would've flinched has this been anyone other than his usually sweet and understanding Nana. 

"Now I won't make excuses for where I made mistakes, because I did make them." She went on more calmly, her voice softening, "Your mother makes mistakes because _every_ parent does. I can't explain why she makes all the ones she might do now, I'm not her. People grow up to be more than just their parents, Jean." 

"You wouldn't believe how different you are from your parents, and that's as much a good thing as being similar to them in some ways is. She's doing the best she can with what the world gave her. I want you to forgive her, so you can both move on to the next part of your lives as a family, together." She finished, and Jean was secretly thankful to her for not saying what God gave his mother. 

Jean continued to fiddle with his fork, unsure of how he was feeling. He would have preferred to be validated in his bitterness, and his Nana usually did support his feelings. It felt weird now to have her tell him that he wasn't being, well, _fair_. But it wasn't like he hated his mom, though, so he could understand why his Nana wanted him to stop acting like it. 

"I'll try." He sighed in defeat, understanding that if he tried hanging onto his resentment forever it was only going to cause more problems. 

"Alright then." His Nana said, "So, tell me more about that 'girl', hm?" She asked slyly, causing Jean to instantly go from bitter to embarrassed in a heartbeat. "Wh-what!?" 

She laughed briefly, but soon quieted down, "Oh, Jean, you don't really have to tell me. I still wouldn't tell a soul. But," And her face got more serious again, "I understand if you don't want to tell me. You have to figure some things out for yourself, I know that. Now, eat up, and bring that bowl into the kitchen when you're done with it." 

Jean was grateful as he saw his Nana stand up, because he definitely _couldn't_ talk about his situation with Marco knowing how complicated and confusing it had gotten. 

"But you should use that little gift card for a nice date with the boy!" His Nana chuckled before getting out of range, a final strike to Jean's dignity as it were. It was hard to appreciate his family and their attempts to help when even the likes of his Nana managed to embarrass him.

 

The lethargy after eating so much crap all day had convinced Jean that he could totally get his sleep schedule back on track. If he could, y'know, drag his ass up the stairs and go to bed. He was currently lounging on the couch, watching some cooking competition show on T.V.. 

At least, until he began to overhear a conversation that from what he could guess, was from the kitchen. They were the voices of his mother and Nana, with the various sounds of water running, dishes clanking, and wooden drawers and cabinets being moved. He couldn't hear their voices, just the general stress and increased volume of them.

Jean turned the volume of the T.V. down and carefully stood up, pressing against the wall that led to the hallway to hear things better. If anything, his name had been mentioned, and if not then he was crazy and could get back to watching his show. But for now? It was time to be a nosy shit.

"You said you'd help me with this!" His mother complained, stress in her voice. 

"Stop being so _pushy_ , oh it's no wonder you never remarried...." Was his Nana's snarky response back, surprising even Jean, if what he understood was true. 

Jean's mother made a loud huff, one that he would've been able to hear even with the T.V. at normal volume. "I, I didn't want to remarry--! But that's not the point here, mom!"

"Well it must be," His Nana laughed, "Because, what, do you think Jean's going to go running off with some boy like you did?" Holy _fuck_ , Jean could barely believe his ears! What a way to cut deep.

Things were silent for a moment, and Jean thought maybe the spat was over, until he heard his mother's worried and exasperated sigh, "It's possible. I don't understand why he's so, so upset with me all the time. And secretive, goodness, he doesn't tell me anything. What if it all means he's gonna run away from home? From me-- His _family_?" 

Jean felt hurt that his mother actually thought he'd run away from home, with or without a boy to do so with. He'd never even threatened that, at least not that he could remember.

However his Nana seemed to get a kick out of it, laughing even more than before. "Valerie! _All_ teenagers are like that!" While her laughing had been distractedly loud, she didn't sound joyous for very long. "And you ran away from your religion, not your family." 

"There's nothing you could've done to upset him so much that he'd run away with some mysterious boy in the night. You need to calm down. Especially when he can't just go and get a man pregnant now can he? You should be happy!" 

_Oh_. Well... his Nana was right but, boy were those two gonna get into an argument again once Jean told them he still liked girls. 

"Mother!" Jean's mom gasped, a sound not unlike dishes colliding in the sink following afterwards. 

"What? You know I'm right. Boys are different than girls, it's simple. I know it's hard being a single parent, but things are different now! You need to give Jean time, and space. Treat him more like an adult and less like a silly boy! You raised him better than that." His Nana's words were strong, and with a certain finality to it that Jean knew was the the kind parents used to put their foot down. 

Jean still stood there, almost frozen, his nerves hanging on by a thread as he awaited more conversation, or argument, or anything. His thoughts, however, began to quiet and control themselves, no longer on an excited high of knowing his mother and Nana would argue so seriously like that. 

And as he felt like turning around and going back to the couch, he was startled as he realized Hitch was sitting on the stairs not even 4 feet away from him, looking down the same hall. "You know it was a lot like that when I was a kid." She muttered. 

"You know, always talking, wondering stuff like 'what's wrong, what do we do about him' stuff like that?" She turned to look at Jean, her face smug, "Old people don't know when to shut up." 

Jean bristled, offended that Hitch was insinuating his mother, who'd let her freeload off them for years, and his grandmother, who treated her with the same love as every other member of the family, were dumb. 

But before he could say anything, Hitch just shook her head and looked back down the hallway, "I hate how they always act like just because we're young, we can't hear anything, and we don't understand what they're saying. I guess the only good thing is that with our family, it's not full of complete idiots!" 

Jean scoffed, "Could've fooled me!" Hitch had a lot of fucking nerve, but he didn't really know what else to say to her. 

Hitch didn't look offended, though her face took on a more neutral expression as she stood up, and Jean noticed she was carrying the bag she'd brought over. "Well I've got an important college class in the morning, and I'd be pretty _dumb_ if I didn't catch the train and missed it." 

Jean couldn't give less of a shit about Hitch's superiority bullshit blabbering about how smart she thought she was, even if some people were willfully ignorant about, fuck, who the hell knows how much she was talking about? He was glad that his mother and Nana were who they were, and that he wasn't turning out to be someone like Hitch.

* * *

Life is full of surprises. Or that's what the fortune cookies say, right? It was Sunday, and like Marco had promised, there would be actual gift giving today. Jean was slightly annoyed with the first surprise of the day, though. Marco waking him up by calling him at like 7 in the morning.

"...Mmmmhhfh, hello?" Jean mumbled into the phone, ready to tell Marco to go play in traffic. What the hell was so important that he needed to call this early? Sure, he had to get up at like 5 for school the next day, but this was Sunday! Sunday! Sunday meant sleeping in, did Marco somehow forget that!?

"Guess what we're doing later?" Marco asked, enthusiasm in his voice as if it _wasn't_ too early to be alive. 

"Presents?" Jean asked dumbly, remembering the pictures Marco had sent him and trying to formulate what they might be in his tired mind. 

"Yes, and, something else. Guess!" Marco snickered. He, actually, legitimately snickered. Into Jean's ear, at 7 a.m., on a Sunday. What the fuck?

"I dunno." Jean sighed, growing more and more tired of the game.

"It rhymes with--.... Y-y'all'd've Pardon!" Marco breathed it out like some kind of awkward question more than an explanation, and it made Jean snort painfully with laughter. 

"Sometimes... I forget you're from the south, mhmm." Jean mocked playfully, his voice a groggy, raspy shit still. 

"Oh well you try coming up with some words that rhyme with Olive Garden at this time of night! D-day! I mean day. _Fuck_." Marco stammered out messily, his words intriguing Jean immensely. 

"Woah, shit man, seriously!? Olive Garden?" Jean leaned up, stretching open his eyes to try waking himself up faster. "And wait, you haven't gone to bed yet? 'The fuck, dude, are you even gonna be alive for Olive Garden? We... we are going to Olive Garden, right?"

Marco was humming, like he was trying to concentrate on something, and for a while Jean thought he might just be fucking with him. "Yes, just you an' me, at Olive Garden later. Like, 4:30? For your birthday! A-and no, I've been asleep! I'm up early!" 

A mug cozy could tell that Marco was lying, at least about the sleeping part. "Oh, uhh... okay. I'll be ready then, then." Jean muttered, a revitalizing feeling stirring in his chest at the idea of it. How long had it been since he'd gone to Olive Garden? 

"'Kay, uhh, good morning, then." Marco finished. Before he could hang up though, Jean smirked and let himself relax into bed as he had an idea, "And I've got something better that rhymes with Olive Garden." 

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Marco challenged him, the confidence in his voice telling Jean that he thought he'd already gone through everything. 

"You'll've Hardened, by the time you start deep throating those goddamn bread sticks you love so much." Jean snorted, holding his free hand up to his lips to contain his desire to laugh.

Marco only scoffed, "Th-that doesn't even rhyme!" And then he hung up. 

Ahh... that felt good. Jean dropped his phone down on his bed and rolled over, smiling to himself as he settled back into his bed for a few last moments of relaxation. The excitement was too much to go back to sleep now.

 

After Jean had fully woken up and had time to think on everything, he wondered if this plan was such a good idea. But how could he decline such an offer? Free Olive Garden? After all the things he'd eaten Saturday, it seemed like a good way to get his oily acne-infested face to revolt against him. But, y'know, _free Olive Garden_!

Jean was having some trouble deciding what to wear. Nothing too casual, since it was Olive Garden, but nothing too fancy, in order to make sure Marco knew that Jean understood what this whole thing was: A way to make up for disappointing Jean on his birthday.

He was surprised that his mom had agreed to let him go, despite it being a school night. She honestly still believed that Jean and Marco were estranged because of the super secret girlfriend Marco totally had, and she thought that this would help them make up. It was funny how similar to the truth it really was.

As long as both of them were home by 7:30, they were off the hook just the once. And so Jean kept picking through all his clothes, desperately looking for that sweet spot between casually lazy millennial and mature sophisticated almost-adult. 

He knew one thing for certain; Marco would be late. Because well, when wasn't he? If they were going anywhere classier than a Wendy's then, that was it, Marco had to go the extra mile. He had to look good, otherwise he just wouldn't shut up about how awful he supposedly looked to everyone else. It really killed Jean's mood most of the time. 

They were supposed to leave at around 4:30, but of course, Marco hadn't shown up on time. God, if Jean had a dime for every time Marco had to put the world on hold to make himself look nice and pretty, he'd be able to afford his own damn Olive Garden. He even had half a mind to just go there now, and pay with his new flashy Visa!

But, ehh, hoarding his money until the appropriate wasting time seemed like a far better idea. Or maybe buy an actual dildo, for Christ's sake, before he decided a broom handle was ideally dickish in shape.

Although when it all got boiled down to it, Jean was actually kinda nervous, and he was trying to psyche himself up as much as possible. The past week hadn't done much good for the two of them, and he didn't wanna trip over himself yet again and add onto the little gap that was between them. 

Jean walked into the bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror as he uncapped his concealer and started to smear it on his face. In the morning, he didn't think his face had looked too bad. But with time settling into his nerves, he'd recently decided it wasn't acceptable and had to cover it up.

He was all too aware of the fear in his own eyes, but he refused to let the nausea and headaches set in. This was for his birthday, and Marco cared about him even after all of this _chaos_ of the past half a year. 

If this wasn't something to help them get back on track, to be the way they used to be where they weren't walking on eggshells with each other? Fucking hell, Jean would do anything for that.

After he'd finished up he decided to wait downstairs, just so that he'd be ready to go for whenever Marco's slow ass decided to show up. Jean was dying to get some food, and was tempted to just steal a little bowl of stew they'd taken home from his Nana's. 

It wouldn't be a day out with a friend, though, if his mother wasn't hiding downstairs ready to interrogate him. "Jeany you look so nice! It's nice that you're going out some place nice for your birthday-- Are you sure Marco can afford it? Does he need me to pay for you?" 

Jean rolled his eyes as he passed by her and into the living room, plopping himself down on the couch, "It wouldn't be a birthday present if I had to pay for it, mom, it's fine." He sighed. But she actually had quite the point, one of which Jean hadn't though of until now.

Marco was scrambling to budget his money and save up before his birthday, and even if they bought just the cheap stuff at Olive Garden it would still be expensive enough to put a fretful dent in any kind of savings he had. At least, for someone without a job.

It was disappointing, knowing this would probably be the last time Marco treated Jean out to get something from a real restaurant. Jean remembered the little remark his Nana made about what he should do with his new gift card, blushing at the idea of taking Marco out to eat for once. 

His mother, oblivious to Jean's internal dilemma, continued onward, "You're right, you're right.... Do you have your keys? Is your phone charged?" 

"Yes and yes." Jean had been through this enough times before, and he pulled both items out of his pockets as proof. 

His mother hurried into the living room, digging through her purse what was on the coffee table, "D'you want me to take a picture of you both? It won't be long before you're both adults, moving out, living your own lives, doing your own--" 

"What is this, prom night!? No! We can take our own pictures-- And who says I'm moving out!?" Jean scoffed, annoyance in his voice. What was his mom thinking, that once Marco turned 18 he'd be indefinitely caged in a suit calling everyone "sir" and "ma'am" without any plans to still spend time with his friends? 

"I'm just kidding about moving out, Jeany, calm down! And of course I want to take pictures, I got some nice ones last night for your little party. Don't you want something more, more traditional to remember your birthday by than some selfies?" She laughed at first, mellowing out into the occasional chuckle in between sentences. 

Jean's face had turned sour, his eyebrows furrowed, nose crinkled up, and his lips all pursed in frustration. Well, at least his mother got a kick out of making jokes about kicking him out! He'd see who's laughing, 15 years down the road when she couldn't lift a grapefruit if her life depended on it. 

When his mother looked up at him after retrieving her camera, she gave and exaggerated pout, "Ohhh, don't give me that look. I was just joking. You can do with you want with your life, Jean, I know that. Didn't you read my card?" 

"Just get me a singing card next time!" Jean huffed, turning and looking out the window to pretend he wasn't pink in the face with embarrassment. He hated mushy cards! Especially when they were given to him not long after the person giving it to him had pissed him off. 

A multitude loud knocks were heard at the door in quick succession, followed by the door bell ringing a singular time. It drew the current subject to a close, and they looked over at the door in curiosity. 

"I'll get it," Jean breathed out, willing to take any chance to remove himself from the conversation they were having. He got up off the couch and walked over to the front door, and opened it. 

Marco was standing there, the festive bag from the photo in hand. He had a fairly neutral look on his face that Jean knew to be one of nervousness based on the strange smile on Marco's face. "Took you long enough." Jean complained, turning around to slip a pair of his shoes on.

"We uh, ahhh, we're gonna miss it if we don't leave like right now." Marco force laughed as he said it, scratching his nose before swinging his hand up to scratch his hair. Soon after, though, Marco realized he was messing up his hideous hairdo and quickly attempted to fix it. 

"Oh is that Marco? Why don't you both stay in for a bit so I can get a nice picture?" Jean's mother butted in, a hopeful smile on her face. 

"No, mom, we're gonna be late!" Jean insisted, although he didn't know the reason why. Wasn't one of Marco's parents driving them? 

"Yeah, super late!" Marco chimed in, leaning into the house and giving a small wave. 

"I see," Jean's mother sighed, looking down at her camera with a frown, "Promise you'll let me take one later, when you both get back?" She added on in excitement, gently shaking her camera back and forth for emphasis. 

Marco blinked a few times, and returned to his upright position out of sight of her. Jean could tell that Marco probably didn't get much sleep, and then rushed too much to get ready, even if it still took forever. "Yeah mom, whatever." Jean called back in appeasement, ready to leave and close the door behind him.

"Alright, love you! Be safe, call me when you're done!" His mother went on, giving a little wave as Jean stepped out of the house. 

"Yeah love you too bye!" Jean shouted back quickly, closing the door behind him almost quickly enough to cut his words off. 

Marco was standing there, still looking uncharactersitcally antsy and nervous, "Soo, don't be mad," He started, causing Jean to of course worry. 

" _What_?" Jean asked with a sigh, beginning to walk away from the front door, with Marco quick to follow. 

"Uhhmh, well...? We, we kind of have to take the bus and we might miss the next one?" Marco explained quietly, quickening his pace. 

Jean went wide eyed, "We're _what_!? Why!?" He stopped for a second, thinking it might be a good idea to have his mother drive them instead. But then he thought about the silly thing she'd been convinced was going on between him and Marco, and he decided against it. 

"My parents are both busy and... and I din't want Ymir to drive us." Marco explained quickly, a heavy tone of disappointment and shame in his voice. "I didn't mean to take so long, I woke u-- I mean I was, I was busy doing chores." 

Jean's mouth slanted in disbelief as he caught up to Marco again, slapping him on the shoulder, "Shut up, I know you pulled an all nighter last night. You weren't doing chores, you were taking a million years to get dressed." He finished with a smirk, noticing how Marco was ever so slightly better dressed than Jean was. 

Marco blushed slightly, but leaned away as if Jean might hit him again, "Okay, and? I, I dunno I might not be able to go anywhere nice for a while, so I thought I'd make myself look nice." 

Looking him up and down, Jean could agree that Marco did in fact look good. Of course, he almost always thought Marco looked nice, what with his nearly flawless skin, and the way his family had raised him to take better care of his body. He could be wearing a chicken suit and Marco would still somehow make it work.

Jean snorted with laughter at the thought, causing Marco to turn to him with a concerned look on his face, "What's so funny?" 

Oh, if only he knew. But Jean just shook his head, unable to force the smile from his face, "I was just thinking the same thing earlier, y'know. I'm gonna have to get a job or something, treat you to Wendy's when the landlords aren't looking?" 

Marco rolled his eyes, "Stop, you sound like Ymir. C'mon you're walking too slow." 

Jean didn't like his implications, pulling out his phone to check the time, "Uh? I am not _running_ to the bus stop, okay? I still can't believe you walked all the way over here instead of just, like, calling me so I could meet you there." He didn't care what time the bus got there or not, there would be another one in like... a half hour. Eh.

"I'm not saying we have to like run, just, I don't wanna dilly dally." Marco tried explaining, shrugging.

"Yeahp, I figured.... Wouldn't wanna get your nice clothes all sweaty, huh?" Jean mocked, trying his best not to imagine Marco all hot and sweaty. 

"For your information," Marco started, trying to sound smug, "I smell great, _and_ I actually remember to use deodorant every day?"

Jean's mouth hung open slightly at the insult, and he quickly moved to kick Marco's pants, hoping to get some dirt on them. However, anyone would've seen that kind of assault coming from a mile away, and Marco began to walk much faster to avoid it. "I'm not buying you dessert!" He threatened jokingly.

"What, like you could even afford it in the first place?" Jean called after him, not bothering to walk any faster. Anymore burnt energy and he just might start chewing off his fingers. 

Marco looked behind him, a little smile on his face, "Anything for you." He said in such a sickeningly sweet way, Jean had to assume it was sarcasm. But it made Jean's face heat up anyway in frustration, for more ways than one. 

"I-I'm gonna order the most expensive thing on the menu, then!" Jean shot back, trying to force an angry glare on his face. But it was no use, and even if he'd succeeded, Marco would've seen right through it. He always did. 

"Oh, so I can keep this then?" Marco asked as he turned his head back around, lifting the bag in his hand up into the air. It was killing Jean to not know what it was, and with a medium present bag like that, it was hard to tell. Jean did, however, notice the ease in which Marco lifted it up, and felt a bit of triumph. One step closer to figuring it out.

"So there really is something in there?" Jean asked as Marco slowed his pace, and they got closer to each other again. 

Marco had the becoming of a pout forming on his face, "Are you gonna hold that over me forever? I told you it wasn't my fault!" The genuine, little whine in his voice killed Jean a bit on the inside. In the best ways, of course. It was adorable. 

"Of course," Jean started, resisting the urge to lean in and whisper into Marco's ear, "'Same with everything else." He wanted to refer to the glass unicorn in particular. "You do it too, don't act all innocent." 

Marco sighed exaggeratedly, looking up a bit, "Right, just when I thought we were becoming mature adults. I guess I really am the mature one." He finished, an air of false sadness to his voice. 

Jean snorted, and while he would have loved to give Marco a good poke in the side, he resisted. "I pet a dog yesterday that was more mature than you, at like, half your age. So yeah have fun with your taxes." 

It was a joke that probably cut just deep enough to pierce into Marco's actual feelings, which was evident by the wistful stare in his eyes, "God, I hate math." 

Not wanting Marco to linger on the tasteless idea of adult responsibilities and the world somehow imploding on itself because of having to pay rent, Jean changed the subject, "There're bread sticks waiting for you at Olive Garden, smile!" 

Marco's eyes lit up at that, "Oh, oh my god I am gonna have _so many_ bread sticks." He moaned, and Jean was sure his mouth was probably salivating at the thought. It made him want to laugh, but he bit his tongue and refused. 

If Marco ordered anything other than dipping sauces for the bread sticks, he'd be impressed. Jean didn't even know what he was gonna get, there were so many things he loved to get from Olive Garden. It'd have to be anything _but_ spaghetti and meatballs, that's for sure.

* * *

They'd just barely caught the bus, the two of them having to actually run a bit to keep the bus from leaving. It'd been awkward, but Jean preferred it to standing around for another half hour.

It was definitely worth it though, Jean more than pleased with his fried mozzarella appetizer. Was it generic? Yeah, but not any more basic than Marco's obvious choice of dipping sauces for the bread sticks. 

Normally, when they went to Olive Garden together, they weren't alone. It was with either of their family members, or them and a group of friends all pitched in to eat together, usually just ordering a singular Tour of Italy and an appetizer for them to share. It all seemed kind of....

"Is this, _really_ necessary?" Jean asked quietly, swishing one of his last pieces of mozzarella in the sauce it came with. Of course he appreciated what Marco was doing for him, but he just felt bad that he was wasting what was some of Marco's saved up money. He was pissed that Marco forgot his present on Thursday, sure, but he wasn't _this_ mad.

Marco just smiled, hesitating taking another bite of a bread stick, "It's part of your birthday present, so, yeah?" And with that he popped the bread stick in his mouth, breaking eye contact as he closed his eyes instead, humming in delight. 

Jean just looked down at his food, shrugging, "'Just seems like... a bit much, y'know?" He tried to laugh with it, to keep himself from sounding too glum.

Nothing was said for a while, Jean focusing on his empty plate, like his staring might just make more food appear. It would have been quiet, if y'know, they weren't in a bustling restaurant at dinner time. 

"We used to do this kind of stuff a lot," Marco started after a while, his voice deflated. "Maybe not always a place like this, but, it's your _birthday_ and...." He trailed off, sighing exasperatedly. 

Their waitress came over not long after, "Can I get these empty plates out of your way?" She asked, that forced positivity in her demeanor that all service workers had to have. Jean swore he'd never go into such a business, knowing he didn't have the charisma and social finesse they had. 

"Uh huh." Jean quickly answered, pulling his hands off the table to let her take them away. 

She started gathering the plates, expertly stacking them so they wouldn't slide around and fall over, "Your entree will be out in just a minute, can I get you more bread sticks?"

Marco swallowed the food that was in his mouth, coughing as he tried to speak before he'd finished, "Y-yes please!" He agreed, an almost embarrassing amount of enthusiasm in his voice. Their waitress, however, didn't acknowledge the awkwardness, simple nodding and taking her leave.

It seemed then, that Marco felt encouraged to keep the conversation going, "I know that, you know, the last couple of months have been kinda...." He waved his hand around a bit, "We've been acting weird." He sighed. 

Jean was cautious as he looked up at Marco, a sinking feeling in his gut as he wondered what he was getting at. And shit, there it was, the look in Marco's eyes. All soft and understanding, careful even. It was kind of... comforting, but still in a kind of ominous way. 

"Things've changed." Marco sighed, looking away from Jean's eyes, "It's obvious, okay, and I've been thinking about it? I don't think things are ever going to go back to 'normal'." 

Hearing that was like a sharp stab to Jean, and it made the sinking feeling in his stomach grow into a much larger, forceful rock that weighed it down further. What did Marco mean? What was he saying? What did he want, what if--

"But, that's okay, y'know!? Things are supposed to change all the time, I mean, we're not the same people we were when we first met, right?" Marco quickly interjected, and Jean wasn't sure if he was saying that because he sense Jean's worries or not. 

The smile on Marco's face however, was quite genuine, and Jean had no choice but to accept the hopefulness in Marco's voice. "I think we've been trying so hard to do things 'normally' we're just making things worse because we can't, really, I don't know, go back?" Marco sounded unsure, and his smile had somewhat faded as he looked to Jean expectantly. 

Jean blinked, unsure of what Marco wanted from him. "...I? Don't you want things to be normal?" He all but whispered in bewilderment. 

"I don't know," Marco sighed, his face going pink as he looked down at his near-empty basket of bread sticks, "What if 'normal' for us is just going to be something else now? It doesn't _have_ to be bad, right? Not unless we make it that way." 

The more he explained, the less nauseated Jean felt, although he still wasn't exactly sure what Marco meant. "I guess?" He muttered slowly, unsure of what else he even could say. 

"I like when we talk." Marco stated it as if it were some kind of confession, looking back to Jean with a face that some might've found blank, had they not looked in his eyes to see the kindness in them. "And we're just not, not _doing that_ a lot, at all really, like we can't say anything different from what we'd talk about from last year or something."

Jean swallowed, thinking back on all the times in recent months their attempts to get into deeper conversations than their general small talk had quickly grown tense, or uncomfortable. He still felt bad about forcing Marco to come out to him, not that he knew how he could make up for it. Wasn't trying to make things go back to normal the best way to do that?

What Marco was saying reminded Jean of what happened just a week ago, in his house. He'd been talking about them opening up and not worrying about things then, too. Jean suddenly figured that Marco must've been thinking on that for a while now, and Jean felt like an idiot for not picking up on it at all, had Marco been trying to tell him sooner.

"I just want us to be happy." Jean breathed out heavily, relief overcoming him as he got it off his chest. 

Marco smiled as he picked up the last bread stick, tearing it in half and handing one of them to Jean, "I know that." Of course he did. What idiot would think anything else? "Bread sticks make people happy." He added on, a stupidly wide smile on his face as he dripped his half into the marinara sauce. 

Jean pushed down his fears, hesitantly picking up the other half of the bread stick, "They're not really that good." He mumbled jokingly, eating his plain.

"Owh," Marco's eyes narrowed, "I fthought you wanted meh to be _happy_?" He whined with his mouth half full, causing Jean to snort and nearly choke on his own food. Only Marco could take even a light offense to his favorite bread sticks being "insulted".

 

After god knows how many baskets of bread sticks, Marco did finally slow down, cutting himself off when the waitress last asked if they'd like more. This was one of Marco's very many guilty pleasures, and Jean knew that Marco would be running all the fat and calories off in the coming weeks. 

Jean was happy to be eating an _actual_ meal. Already having the taste of tomatoes and beef from the stew his Nana made him, he'd decided to go with chicken alfredo, because really, when is chicken alfredo _not_ a good choice? Never. The answer was never and if anyone thought differently they were just wrong.

Half way through the delicious, creamy mess that he knew his face would pay him back for, Marco pulled the gift bag out from under the table, "I think you should open this now." He said in a sing-song voice, his excitement almost suspicious. 

Slurping up his current fork-full of pasta, Jean extended his free hand to reach forward and grab at the bag handle almost aggressively. "I've been waiting _years_ for this," Jean groaned, before pushing his bowl away to make room.

Marco rolled his eyes, and even shook his head, "It's been 3 days." 

Jean pulled the bag into his lap, " _Years_." There were wads of colored tissue paper filling the bag, and he quickly started to pull them out, setting them onto the table. He always wondered what the original true purpose of the stuff was. Did people really think they needed a bunch of worthless paper that couldn't hold up to a gentle breeze, as a kind of decoration?

But after tearing out a decent amount of paper from the bag, Jean noticed he couldn't see any gifts in the bag, just... more paper. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Marco held his hand to his face in a fist, gently biting on one of his knuckles. 

" _Oh_ , you dick." Jean hissed quietly, realization hitting him hard. Marco snorted with laughter, devolving into a little fit of giggles as he watched Jean continue to tear out fist full after fist full of paper. 

By the time Jean had gotten to the end, there was paper all over the booth he was sitting in, and littering the table to a degree that was earning stares from other people in the restaurant. Marco continued to snicker and laugh throughout the entire little ritual, but Jean refused to give him the satisfaction of any other complaints. 

What a simple form of revenge... but a waste of money, for sure! The joke was on Marco after all! Or at least that's what Jean wanted to think, as if tissue paper was all that expensive to begin with. 

Finally, Jean felt a box at the bottom of the bag, "Aha!" He shouted a little too loudly, yanking his hand, and the box, out with it. Fittingly so, the actual gift was a very small, flat, square box. 

Underwhelmed but intrigued, Jean set the box down on the table and started to scoop most of the tissue paper back into the gift bag. He want anyone to question the mess, or worse, have them fall off the table and create a mess on the floor too. 

As much as he would've liked to sit there and make Marco wait, Jean was rather impatient after all the build up Marco had created over the past few days. Without even asking what it was, Jean flipped open the lid of the box, which luckily didn't go flying into his pasta. 

"Wh.... Wait a second," Jean squinted his eyes at the sight; 2 long, colored strings of some sort, with a, charm at the end of them? He slowly picked one of them up, looking it over, before his eyes darted to Marco's face, "Friendship bracelets?" 

Marco went wide eyed, his mouth agape for a moment as he looked down at the box, "N-no! They're key-chains!" In disbelief, Jean examined the key-chain again. There was a clip at one end, and behind the charm there was a large hook.

" _Barely_!" Jean laughed, setting the key-chain down on top of his other wrist, "Look, Marco, it's a bracelet." He knew that it was entire plausible to get keys around on the circular ring, but, these were totally friendship jewelry.

"'B' and 'F', best friends, Marco? C'mon, they're frickin' friendship bracelets!" Jean continued to joke, until Marco shot back, "Or y'know, boyfriends."

That shut Jean up real quick, the smile disappearing from his face as he felt his heart twinge. "That's not funny." He uttered, his voice verging on cracking as he gave Marco an unforgiving stare. He never thought Marco would be stupid enough to joke about something like that.

But Marco _wasn't_ an idiot, quiet obviously reading Jean's behavior, "I... I'm sorry," Marco said, "I didn't mean--...." He seemed like he didn't know what to say, or rather, _how_ to say what he meant. 

"I'm not making fun of you." Marco clarified, his voice less shaky and unsure than before, "I wasn't lying about, you know what I said... about you?" His voice quieted, but he maintained eye contact with Jean. "You are sweet, and cute." 

Jean was still frozen, confused all over again, his heart racing. But his mind still frantically searched for answers, thought he came up with none that made sense to him. "I-is this some kind of joke?" He asked quietly, his eyes feeling heavy at the threat of tears. At least he remembered where the bathroom was if it came to that. 

"No!" Marco gasped, shaking his head slightly, "I wasn't trying to joke like that, I'm sorry!" He insisted, still keep his voice low. It was obvious that, whatever Marco had planned for the evening, it wasn't meant to go this way. 

He looked down, staring at one of the stray sheets of tissue paper on the table, "I, I don't know if I can be in like, a s-serious relationship," He carefully lifted his gaze again to look at Jean, who was still currently stunned in a cautious state teetering between a multitude of things. 

"I know you love me," _God_ , for fuck's sake, Jean could feel his blood pulsing through him he was so unnerved by what Marco was saying. "And you care about me, and," Marco inhaled, "We both clearly want us to, to be together, and, maybe it's not a good idea to just ignore how we feel!" He messily explained, the emotion there but his voice still as level, only slightly wavering. 

They were both obviously nervous. Jean set the key-chain back down in its box, staring at it, "Is... is this a date?" He asked, shocked and embarrassed, too much so to look back up at Marco. 

"Yes? Yes. I mean, if you want it to be?" Marco mumbled. "But it doesn't, uhhmmh, have to be? Best friends... boyfriends, I-- _We_ can do either."

Jean looked up, his face red with embarrassment, but his mind still full of confusion, "I don't get it, Marco, _you_ said you couldn't, you said it was gonna end up all messed up? Like I was asking you to fly or something."

Marco nodded, a mixture of shame and embarrassment on his face. But he cleared his throat and met Jean's gaze, his face softening more, "I know what I said. And I wasn't lying, at least not about most of it. I just, I don't know _how_ to be someone's... boyfriend."

"And like, I'm not trying to confuse you okay, I know it might not work out, because I don't think I can do everything right, but I still wanna _try_." Marco pulled his hand out from under the table, stretching it across the table to rest it on the open box. 

"We're best friends, right? I just thought that... if I'm going to try, why not with you when you know me like you do? N-not that you're like, some stupid test run or something just, I feel more comfortable when I think about it with you. Because you already, you know... love me?" Marco said it like a question, as if he didn't already know the answer. 

Jean blinked, but answered anyway, "Yeah...." Did Marco really think Jean could fall out of love with him in just a couple of months? If Jean could then he wouldn't have pined for Marco's affections for nearly 5 whole years. 

The answer seemed to spark something in Marco, and he seemed a lot more calm and hopeful, even if Jean knew it wasn't the case. He knew Marco was still a nervous mess, no matter what kind of outlook he did or didn't have on their conversation. 

"I don't wanna put you in that spot if it's gonna, y'know, hurt you. Jean, I just, I just want you to know that I do really like you, okay? But I just, I can't do _everything_." Marco added on, giving Jean a hopeful little smile afterwards. 

Jean didn't know what to think, what to feel, what he should say, _anything_! How? How could Marco... think like that, after such little time? The confusion was unbearable, and Jean shook his head, "I can't."

"Marco I can't. I don't, I don't understand what you're saying! Two months ago you said we should stop having feelings for each other b-because you just can't, and now it's just, this 180? I, I don't know. I don't... I don't understand." Jean hurriedly breathed out, stuttering and tripping over his own words as he tried to process his thoughts and feelings into words. 

Did he love Marco? Yes, of course he did. But he didn't understand how Marco could change his mind, especially when Jean hadn't even once tried to convince him to. 

Marco didn't look angry, or upset, and not like he was going to cry, either. He nodded slowly, still smiling, "Okay.... I'm sorry, I just think when you surprised me like that? It, freaked me out. But now--.... I mean, I'm sorry, it's okay, I get it." Marco retrieved his hand, returning it back under the table. 

"Think about it?" Marco asked finally, continuing to shock Jean. The only thing he'd ever do from now on was think about it! Marco was driving him up a damn _wall_! At this rate Jean was gonna drop dead from a heart attack at 18. 

One thing Jean couldn't deny, though, was how sincere Marco had been. It was apparent that he must've been thinking about it for a while, maybe even since Jean confessed and forced Marco to come out to him. He would definitely think about it, not just because he loved him, but because Jean owed it to Marco to really think about his feelings, like Jean hadn't done before.

 

The rest of dinner had been short, or rather the time they'd waited for the check, had been very quiet. Jean was still coming down from the adrenaline of such a confession, and Marco was either smart or worried enough to leave him to his thoughts for the time being.

It was the bus ride home, however, that somehow convinced Marco to prod Jean into a conversation again, "Jean...?" He asked quietly, a careful, gentle tone that might've just seemed insulting if Jean hadn't calmed down a bit. 

Jean didn't look at Marco, who'd been sitting right next to him, and shrugged halfheartedly with his left shoulder, "Hn?" Part of him was upset that when he faced rejection, he cried, and yet somehow Marco didn't react that way. He wished he could have had that kind of confidence, but then again, Marco wasn't in love.

Marco breathed out his nose, though it wasn't in an annoyed way. "Are you mad?"

Jean wanted to laugh, "No?" He was upset, of course, and confused, and he wished things had played out differently between them from the start.... If he was mad at anyone, it was himself. Maybe if he hadn't pushed so hard, this wouldn't have happened. 

"You sure? I'm sorry, about all of that. I didn't think that it'd make you upset, I thought it'd be a nice surprise.... I guess I shouldn't've told you to stop feeling things." Marco sighed.

He was right about one thing. Jean had been kicking himself for the past two months over the way he felt, only for Marco to decide otherwise. "I know. You tried." Jean mumbled with a hint of happiness in his voice. It was a nice gesture, really, Marco just needed to do better in explaining himself. 

"What changed your mind?" Jean asked turning to look Marco in the eye. It was intimidating, but he really need to know. "You kept acting like we were just gonna ruin everything at some point." 

Marco swallowed, wincing even, as he looked down at the box in Jean's lap, "I thought you'd hate me if I couldn't do a serious relationship. You care so much about all that stuff, you know? But you loved me with just us being friends so, I thought maybe I was just being silly. We could just, take things slow or whatever, right?"

Jean was skeptical, "Slow how?"

Marco chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before giving out a sigh. Something about this was all difficult for him, and Jean desperately wanted to know why. "I don't wanna have a serious relationship." Okay. That made sense. "And I don't... want anyone we know to know about it."

Jean scoffed lightly, almost laughing, "Secret friends with benefits?" He had to be joking. 

Marco's face changed to one of shock, "No, no not like that! I mean... not yet? If everyone knows then, then we'll never have any privacy. No one'll let us just, be together how we want, they'll be butting into it all the time, and we'd never be allowed behind uh... 'closed doors'?" Marco blushed as he finished, quickly scooting a bit away from Jean. 

He did have a point. Jean's mother was already breathing down his neck like a harpy trying to figure out everything about his love life, and Marco's parents had very strict rules regarding other girls in the house as far as Ymir's life was concerned. 

Jean sighed, "...I don't know." He was feeling a new sense of disappointment about his love for Marco. He'd never really thought so far ahead. When he thought about dating Marco, he pretty much just imagined sunshine and rainbows and cuddles all the time. He didn't think about what kind of relationship they'd really have, or how it would affect their lives with, y'know, everyone else around them. 

"It's okay, I said I understand. I don't want to be in a relationship if it's not everything you want." Marco echoed is earlier words, and while they were understanding, Jean could also tell there was a kind of disappointment in them. These weren't bullshit mind games; Marco was being serious. 

Jean nodded, noticing the bus getting closer to their stop. He opened the box of key-chains on his lap, "Right, so, do you want the 'B', or the 'F'?" If they couldn't date, he at least wanted to stay friends. Best friends, that is.

Marco smiled, like he never thought Jean would ask, "That one's not obvious?" 

"I thought so," Jean hummed, taking the 'F' one out and slipping it into his pocket. Marco took the other one afterwards, "And they're key-chains, alright? Not friendship bracelets." 

Jean shrugged, "They can be both?" 

Marco pulled the string to alert the bus to stop soon, "I mean, I _guess_ I can live with that? I'm using mine as a key-chain though." His voice was lighthearted in comparison to before, which was far more comforting than the gentle tone he'd been using before. Jean never wanted his feelings for Marco to ruin their friendship.

This whole "different" thing that Marco was talking about, Jean felt intimidated by the idea that their "normal" would significantly change. But at the same time, he felt relieved. "Marco?" Jean asked as the bus slowed, wanting to make sure he got to get his point across before they had to part ways. 

Marco looked at him, giving his full attention. Jean blushed, looking out the window, "I... I like talking with you about this stuff, too, y'know? Just, let's just not do it at birthday dinners? Or on the bus, next time?" 

It took a moment for Marco to respond, but he finally did so with a relieved sigh, "Yeah? Okay, that uhm, makes more sense. I'm really sorry." 

Jean turned to look towards Marco, although he couldn't face him, "Stop apologizing, alright? I know." More apologies would only make them both feel worse. Like they were both making a mess that neither of them could fix. 

Once the bus stopped, Marco handed Jean the gift bag, "For the box." He quickly mentioned before getting up, walking towards the exit. Jean followed suit, slipping the box into the bag as he did so. 

It was chilly outside now that it was dark, and Jean wished he'd brought a jacket or something. He did still have to walk home. "What time is it?" Jean asked, keeping his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. 

"Uhhh...." Marco pulled his phone out, "Oh, god it's almost 7." He huffed and stuck his phone back in his pocket, and just as Jean thought that was the cue to start heading home, Marco stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jean, hugging him. 

"Happy birthday." Marco whispered, holding him tightly. Jean removed his hands from his pockets, ignoring the cold for the moment, and returned the hug, leaning his head into Marco's shoulder.

Like always, Marco made the hug last just a few seconds longer than average, making it both somewhat awkward and that much more genuine. Before he could open his mouth though, Jean interrupted him, "Say 'sorry' one more time and I'll stab you."

Marco looked taken aback, blinking, "I was just going to say 'good night'!" Ohh, sure he was. Jean knew him better than that, but didn't push it. 

"Goodnight then. See ya tomorrow?" Jean said, before turning and walking back towards his house. 

"Goodnight!" Marco repeated anyway. Sure that he was giving him a wave, Jean awkwardly twisted his arm back to give him a quick wave, before shoving his hand back into the warmth of his pocket. He'd enjoy the warmth of a nice hot shower when he got home.

 

To pretend that the night was without its problems, and that he was feeling a-okay would be a lie. Like with all things in life, there were good and bad, and they'd pass eventually, but in the moment they had to be dealt with. Whether Jean liked it or not. 

As soon as he walked in the front door, his mother hurried out of the kitchen, "Jean, you're home! How was it? What did Marco get you!?" She asked excitedly, completely oblivious to the roller coaster of emotions Marco had just took him on. 

"Not now, mom, I just wanna take a shower and go to sleep." He muttered, kicking his shoes off lazily. Jean needed to think, to relax, and if this weren't about Marco he'd be able to masturbate the stress away too. 

His mother wouldn't quit though, "Oh? What's wrong? Was the service bad?" Why was she even _home_? Her book club stuff usually lasted longer, and Jean could only assume she cancelled for the soul purpose of harassing Jean when he got home. 

Jean rolled his eyes and groaned, "He got me a key-chain, now leave me alone!" And he escaped upstairs as quickly as he could, knowing she wouldn't follow. 

He dropped the present bag in the hallway by the bathroom door, but froze when he noticed the light in the bathroom was on. "Uhh... hello!?" He asked, knocking on the door. 

"I'm getting ready for bed, get lost!" Hitch's shrill voice came from the other side, filling Jean with exasperation. Why she had to have an agonizingly long pre-bed ritual was beyond him. Who was she trying to look good for, with her million steps of face washing and hair brushing and dental care? 

"Well hurry the fuck up!" Jean huffed, banging on the door with his fists. He didn't wanna wait around for her to open the door and assault him though, and so he picked up his bag and stormed into his room. 

He waited as patiently as he could on his bed, but his mind kept drifting to thoughts of the things Marco said. It was stressful, not to the point he was gonna cry but, _damn_ it was confusing him. 

Of course Marco had tried to explain more, but ultimately Jean still didn't understand Marco's entire thought process. Something about dating clearly scared Marco, and it made Jean physically nauseous to think about. 

At some point they'd have to talk more about that, because while Jean understood people had commitment issues, he was convinced it had to be something else, something more. He just wanted to stay in the kind of hug Marco had given him at the bus stop, but for longer, and maybe on a couch.

Hearing the sound of the bathroom door open and close, Jean sprung off his bed and made a mad dash for the bathroom, planning to seal himself into it so that Hitch couldn't even get in again if she wanted. 

Luckily, the light was off when he'd opened the door, and so he was confident she wouldn't be bothering him any time soon. He flicked the light on, closed the door, and scanned the sink counter. "Make up remover, make up remover... maaaaake uuup.... rem-- _Ah_!" He spotted the crumpled bag in the corner underneath some lotion of some sort, and he grabbed it in triumph.

They weren't his, but on occasion he'd steal some just for the convenience. Jean almost wanted to wipe the entire day from his memory as he dragged one of the wipes down his face, revealing the red splotches of irritated skin beneath. 

Jean looked at his reflection in the mirror each time after he'd closed his eyes to wipe the damp cloth across his face, and he felt his chest flutter at the thought that _this_ was supposedly who Marco wanted to have his first real relationship with. 

But he didn't linger on it, tossing the wipe in the trash before quickly shedding his clothes off. He didn't even think to take his things out of his pants as he let them drop to the ground. Refusing to look at his naked self, Jean immediately stumbled his way into the shower, spinning the knob to turn the hot water on as soon as he did so.

"Ohfuck!" Jean gasped, the initial shock of cold water being the _opposite_ of what he'd wanted. He moved towards the back of the shower, waiting for it to get nice and warm. 

Soon enough it got warm, and soon after that it was scalding hot, exactly what Jean needed. He moved backwards into the stream of water, letting his back get hit first, "Mmmhhhmm...." Jean hummed, leaning his forehead against the tile wall.

Lord, did it feel like he had a headache coming on. He just wished Marco hadn't _done_ this! All of his explanations tonight had been confusing, and complicated, and Jean didn't like how Marco made it seem so simple! 

It didn't strike Jean that perhaps Marco may have thought the same things back in February, after Jean had insisted being together would be no different than they already were. But in the moment, Jean could only think of his conflicted feelings. 

Leaning his head back, he let the hot water soothe his skull with its harsh pressure and heat. After a while, Jean swore he could feel his blood rushing around in his head, but he leaned his forehead back onto the tile wall to take a deep breath.

There was an unease in him, like he had to throw up, or collapse, or maybe both. Had Marco really meant what he said? Jean thought to shake the memories of his head, to let the brutal warmth of the shower to numb his nerves and turn his mind off to a kind of idleness, if it'd let him. 

But butterflies rose in his stomach once again, replacing the nausea for a moment. Jean would have been blushing, had his face and body not already been red enough from the hot shower. 

Everything from scrubbing his body clean, to washing his face, was a very halfhearted endeavor blocked out by the noodle-like feeling in Jean's head. He hadn't even put shampoo in his hair, opting instead for a run under the water while running his fingers through his hair. 

All he thought about was what Marco said. What he did, how he sounded, how he looked, and the more Jean thought about it he'd even realized Marco had been wearing some kind of perfume on him. 

Jean stood under the hot water for as long as possible, of course, but once it started to get slightly cooler, he was done. He didn't wanna deal with half-baked shower water, so to speak. 

The steam in the room blinded him as he pushed open the shower curtains, and he was shaky as he lifted his first leg over the tub. Jean slowly pulled a towel off the rack, and began to dry himself off poorly. He knew he'd be colder if he didn't dry off completely before leaving, but honestly? It wasn't the biggest thing in his mind. 

Jean felt an urge as his head cleared from his shower high. He quickly grabbed his clothes, before wrapping the towel around him just enough so that he wouldn't be walking to his room with his dick hanging out. 

His heart was racing, and Jean wasn't sure if that was a bad thing, all things considered. Between dinner and the shower? He'd be more worried if his heart rate felt normal.

As expected, he shuddered at the cold when he opened the bathroom door. He slapped his hand across the wall to turn the light off, but didn't even bother to close the door before scurrying away back to his room. 

Jean quickly changed into whatever was available, and pulled his cellphone out of his dirty pants before anxiously resigning to the comfort of this bed. He stared at his phone, more butterflies disturbing him as he thought about calling Marco.

The kind of relationship Jean wanted... was it so different from what Marco asked him for? He knew relationships were never perfect. Not even their _friendship_ was perfect, but...? 

Jean sat up, and dialed Marco's number nervously, breathing heavily as he held the phone to his ear. He squeezed his knee with his other hand, trying to give himself some comfort. 

"Hello?" Marco answered, his voice as normal as ever. It sent a sharp feeling of regret through Jean, but he tried his best to force it down. 

"Yeah, Marco? I... I wanna try. You know...? B-but I wanna talk more, first, okay? About ev-everything you said." Jean breathed, his voice more timid than he could ever realize. His heart was racing, and the butterflies in his chest were constant as he awaited Marco's response. 

"Really? I-- Yeah, yes, okay! I like that idea." Marco answered, the pitch of his voice raising in excitement. 

Jean sighed in relief, bringing up his hand to rub his face, before laying down more comfortably in his bed. "Okay, t-talk to me, about something." He whispered, "Anything you want." Anything that would help them both understand. 

He could hear Marco's nervous laughter before he continued, "I dunno what to say, Jean... I mean there's, there's a lot to talk about isn't there?" 

Jean closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "We could talk, some other time?" He offered, imagining them talking in person, somewhere private. 

"Yeah, we can do that," Marco reassured, a smile clear in his voice. "Goodnight, _again_." He joked, bringing a blush back to Jean's face. 

"Goodnight, I, I love you." Jean stuttered out, kicking himself mentally after he said it. 

But Marco didn't sound uncomfortable, or upset, "I know." He responded softly, a hint of adoration to his voice. 

Jean hung up, afraid of what he might say next. Marco was his boyfriend. Marco was his _boyfriend_.... He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, and for once, that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh god, there's still two chapters left and they got together, someone's gonna die!" Nope. "They're gonna hate each other!" Nah. "Marco was making an April Fool's joke!" Also... no. As promised, there will be a happy ending, no matter what happens between Jean and Marco. There's just more to a friends to dating fic than them just ending up together at some point. Stick around, please comment with your thoughts, subscribe to the fic to get e-mail notifs for the next updates, and thank you so so so very much for reading!


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